


Let You Go

by Rockrgrl4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Minor Non-Cannon Plot Elements, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-06-09 06:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockrgrl4/pseuds/Rockrgrl4
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: DESCRIPTIVE TRAUMATIC SCENES AND PTSD-RELATED CONTENT.When Hermione started her final year at Hogwarts, she wasn't sure what to expect. Would she be happy? Would the world finally change for the better?  Would Draco Malfoy continue bullying her? Only time would tell, though she wasn't ready for what time seemed to have in store for her. How, after everything they had been through, could he possibly love her? Dramione. Slow burn. Future Explicit rating but for now, rated M.





	1. Quis es?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY WILL FEATURE AN IN-DEPTH EXAMINATION OF PTSD AND RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES POST-WAR. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO CONTENT FEATURING DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF NIGHT TERRORS, FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACKS, OR ANY SUCH RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC.

Hermione sighed tiredly, as she stared out the window seat of her train car, the Hogwarts Express taking her to her 8th and final year at Hogwarts. Her book on 7th year charms had long since been cast to the side, the grey backed title lying against the soft red fabric of the compartment’s seat and the cream colors of the compartment wall. A few chocolate frog wrappers lay next to it, unspeakably embarrassing images of an awkwardly smiling Hermione, Ron and Harry on the inside. The train ride so far had been mostly enjoyable, though longer than she remembered. Perhaps it was because this year no one much wanted to talk, and the quiet on the train was unsettling. There was still a loud chatter, especially among the section of the train where the Hufflepuffs usually gathered, but the overall noise level was quieted, as many of the occupants wondered what kind of school year to expect following the fall of Voldemort.

She had read her charms book—the very same she had cast aside so early on in the evening—the summer before last after Voldemort had returned. Even as a 16 year old, she had known to prepare for the upcoming fight and living on the run as best she could. Yet now with the war finally over and the students free to choose to return or make a life for themselves outside of the school, Harry and Ron had decided to skip the school year. Hermione, naturally, had chosen to return with a few others in her year. She felt the absence of Ron and Harry terribly. She had yet to see how large or few the number of returning students would be, as well, since everything seemed so uncertain even now. Nobody really seemed to know if anyone’s choice in returning reflected a stubborn sense of freedom, or whether it was just borne out of uncertainty following the crazed murder spree of a madman.

  
Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the window pane, studying the way the fog from her hot breath grew and dissipated with each inhale and exhale. Night had long since fallen, and they were nearing Hogwarts with every rush of illuminated stones and grass that flew past her peripheral vision.  
  
“Hermione? Are you listening?”  
  
Jerking her eyes open, Hermione separated herself from the window and straightened herself against the all too familiar red cushions of the train compartment. Turning to her right, she met the concerned eyes of her friends with a crooked, small smile. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. What were you lot discussing?”  
  
“We were sharing ideas about who we think is returning this year,” Ginny started, eyes narrowed, as she looked around at Luna and Neville, as if to gauge whether they noticed Hermione’s odd behavior as well. She had known Hermione long enough to know not to trust the halfhearted attempt at a smile that Hermione had given them in response. “I don’t think Susan Bones is returning this year, because of what happened to her family.”  
  
“I doubt Hannah Abbot is returning, either.” Neville added quietly, nodding his agreement with Ginny. “Those two are always a pair, and if Susan isn’t coming back, Hannah won’t either. They stick together like glue.” Neville cast his eyes downward, looking at his feet, “They included me enough times in Herbology, I know how protectively they feel toward one another. I still remember how upset Hannah was after Susan received notice of her cousin’s deaths in Herbology. I don’t think they would want to be separated, especially now.”  
  
“You’re probably right,” Hermione smiled sadly, although her mind was elsewhere. ‘Good,’ Hermione thought, feeling guilty since the topic of conversation was so somber. ‘They’re talking about Hufflepuffs. Hufflepuffs are safe topics of conversation.’ She closed her eyes, but only for a moment before forcing herself to return to the conversation.

“Seamus Finnigan may be returning, but I’m not completely sure,” Hermione offered. “I saw him briefly in Diagon Alley over the summer, but he said he had been undecided. He was holding on to the letter to respond at last minute so he could decide. I do think, though, that he will come.” Hermione, for what it was worth, gave a slight chuckle, “He feels a little too responsible for the destruction of the bridge, and it’s not completely repaired from the damages from last year.”  
  
The four occupants of the train car did not miss the meaning of what “last year” meant, though all for expertly managed to avoid discussing it. Hermione was thankful for the camaraderie in that, at least.  
  
“How about you, Luna?” Ginny offered kindly, turning to her in an attempt to include their quiet, strange companion. “What do you think of returning this year?”  
  
Luna thought for a moment, reaching up unconsciously to tug at the corners of her spectacles. She had sat quietly for much of the train ride, in perfectly companionable silence. Although she had changed the color of her glasses with her wand at least three times in the last ten minutes, as if restlessly, she offered no input into the conversations they were having as she did so. Luna finally had smiled after settling on a multicolor pink, green, and blue version of the finger-shaped glasses, but made no comment about it. It had drawn everyone’s attention for a moment, but they had given her her peace to herself as they so often had before and made no mention of it.  
  
“I think it should be fine.” She said simply, taking a little longer than necessary to elaborate. A flash of light from one of the lanterns outside the train tracks dashed across her face with the speed of the moving train, illuminating a bright spark in her already luminescent eyes. It seemed she was happy to be included after all. “Though I am a little worried about Draco Malfoy returning this year. He seems lost, and I fear will be forced to do terrible things this year. He is suffering.”

Luna’s concern about Draco Malfoy shocked her friends, but then again they never quite knew what to expect from her. Hermione had seen him, on the platform, standing stoically alone after having arrived at the very last possible moment to board the train before it left. No one had come to see him off, and he seemed absolutely resolute in his determination to avoid conversation, stares, and the whispers being made about his presence as he boarded the train. He only had a single, small trunk with him this year, likely with the barest essentials he could bring. It was uncharacteristic of him, to be sure, as Hermione always remembered him boarding the train year after year whilst waving goodbye to his doting mother and prideful father. His trolley had always been heaping over with boxes and a huge trunk to full of things to occupy him for the school year, too, a signature sign of his family’s wealth and privilege. Though Hermione had not given the scene another thought, having afterward been occupied by her friends arrival in the compartment, until Luna had brought him up. “What makes you think that?” Ginny blinked uncertainly, as her body stiffened in response to the mention of him. She fidgeted with her long, red hair as she twisted it around in her left hand, a nervous habit she had had since second year.  
  
Turning her eyes to Ginny, Luna ran her gaze over her ever so slightly, as if she were watching a fly dart across the room, before smiling to herself serenely and answering, “I would be sad, too.”  
  
‘For what it is worth,’ Hermione thought to herself, ‘We are all sad.’ It was exactly as she had feared, when she considered returning to school this year. Draco Malfoy, she anticipated, would be her biggest problem, she was sure, even if she didn’t want to think about him. Everyone knew he would be returning, his Wizengamot sentence posted in every major journal for the world to see. The Daily Prophet had even mentioned it in an exposé written by Rita Skeeter, which contained a complete, invasive account of his family history. It was, of course, filled with all sorts of scandals, as with the fall of Voldemort so too came the fall of the great Malfoy legacy. Many had lined up to share horror stories about the Malfoy family, and Rita Skeeter’s infamous quill, no doubt, had been quivering in excitement with all of the horrible tales they now had the opportunity to report. Hermione’s lip curled in disgust. Although she was never a fan of Draco, even she had to sympathize with him on account of basic human decency. Rita Skeeter was a dreadful woman, and she didn’t doubt that half of the awful things that had been written about his family were actually false, given their own experience with her. Hermione, having cancelled her subscription to the prophet years ago after their utter betrayal of all things decent and good, had read the article on a community copy of that particular edition in the Three Broomsticks. At the time, she had been staying there in disguise for a week or so in the rooms upstairs. After the battle of Hogwarts, and all of the losses they had suffered, even Hermione Granger had to take a few moments to collect herself. With her parents lost to her forever due to an inability to regain their memories, and with the Weasley family reeling so terribly with the fresh loss of their son, she and Harry were suddenly found without a family or a situation. They couldn’t bring themselves to stay at the Burrow, where the family so desperately needed to be alone with one another to heal. It was strange, Hermione had thought with dark amusement, that despite the adoration and whispers of their names across the entire wizarding world, that the golden trio could feel so alone, after it all. Remembering where she was, Hermione allowed a small, bitter smile to etch across her face, but only for a moment. She only ever had a moment. Months after the fall of Voldemort, months after the endless fame and fortune, and months after the end of all of the torture and the trauma, Hermione still felt as if she only ever had a single moment she could allow to slip through the cracks. It was an aftereffect of her PTSD, the St. Mungo’s nursing staff had told her, but their encouragement hadn’t helped ebb the constant feeling of looking over her shoulder, and the screams she woke up to every night since that fateful day.

Coming out of her reverie, Hermione could hear the others now discussing the article about Draco’s family. Great minds think alike, it seems. ‘How will Draco behave this year?’ Hermione asked herself with some trepidation, her fingers curling into her palm despite herself. How could he bring himself to behave, after the death of his mother and the imprisonment of his father? His father, even Hermione felt, was to be pitied. Following the final fall of Voldemort, everyone knew it did not look good for Lucius Malfoy. He had already been granted leniency after the first fall, and following a swift trial this second time around he was sentenced to 4 months in Azkaban before finally meeting the dementor’s kiss. The Wizengamot had doled out a truly severe punishment for him, she knew. Even directly being met with a kiss would have been kinder, though Hermione shuddered to think of it. It was a sentence designed to launch the prisoner into madness, into complete and utter loss of hope before finally being granted a painful, merciless death.

Even as her friends before her discussed it, Hermione saw Ginny’s eyes flash and her jaw set. Her anger toward it all, as Hermione had so often seen in the previous months, had not yet waned. Her hatred toward Death Eater’s families had only grown since the fall, out of the need to blame them for her brother’s loss. Her grief was overtaking her mercy, Hermione knew, so Hermione could forgive Ginny’s prejudice. It was only temporary, after all, and in the coming months Hermione knew Ginny would again begin coming back into her old self. Though the horrible, jarring, painful sense of permanent loss that had overtaken most of the country had left so many affected that she didn’t know any more how to fix things than anyone else did. And because Hermione only knew her own major losses through these same connections of friends, she didn’t feel that she had the right to lecture anyone. Although she had endured a permanent loss of her own in regard to her parents, she could at least go on living knowing that despite it all, her parents were alive and happy.  
  
Tears welled up in her eyes, before she furiously blinked them away, hiding it from the others as she turned her face back toward the window. She resisted the urge to clear her throat, knowing it would give her tears away, as she tried to focus on the problem at hand.  
  
Ah yes, Draco Malfoy. The wild card. Would he still be cruel to her, as he had been all of these years? She didn’t relish the memories of her school years where his involvement was concerned. Constant harassment, constant hatred, and constant emotional abuse tainted her happy memories of such a beautiful time in her life directly because of his involvement. Although aside from all of the Voldemort problems, aside from all of the struggles she helped Harry and Ron through, and aside from the constant trials of her blood status, Hogwarts was such a beautiful, magical memory for her.  
  
Deeply, Hermione breathed through her nose as the beginnings of a brilliant smile lit her face. The train’s whistle chose to blow at that very moment, signaling their imminent arrival to the Hogwarts’ station.  
  
Hermione Granger was home. 

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?!” Ginny shrieked, a laugh playing on her lips as she staggered a few steps from her small leap off the train onto the platform. Her red hair flew all around her shoulders as she spun and laughed, turning backwards to mock her curly haired friend. “How many years have you done this now, and all of a sudden you’re having such difficulty...?”  
  
“Oh, hush,” Hermione snapped, irritated but amused at her friend, as she clung onto the railing for dear life and stretched a single leg down, backwards, to place her weight onto the platform. In front of her, a line of amused students waiting to disembark the train had formed, though their heckling and humor was all in earnest jest.  
  
“Can take down the Dark Lord but can’t make a three foot jump, Granger?” A thick Irish accent howled with laughter, and Hermione’s mouth quirked up at the side in amusement. It seemed that Seamus had decided to make the return after all.  
  
“Care to repeat that to my face, Finnegan?” Hermione snorted, as both of her feet had now touched the platform and she turned around to face her companions. “We’ve seen the evidence of _your_ proclivity for explosives, but if you keep challenging me I’d be happy to show you _mine_.”  
  
“She’s in platformed boots,” Neville sympathized, his voice raised a little louder in reply so that Seamus could hear it from back on the train, “It’s hard to make a jump of any sort in boots!”  
  
“Ah, bloody hell, Granger!” The Irish accent suddenly became louder as a grinning, amused Seamus pushed through the crowded platform towards their group. He pretended to clutch his heart, feigning offense, “You’ve grown claws since I last saw you! You’re a proper woman now! With a fair bit of Irish in ya, I reckon’.” He winked at her before spinning around on the platform with his eyes closed and arms outstretched: “It’s so good to be home!”  
  
“Bloody Hell, Granger,” a jeering voice mocked, advancing quickly toward the group. “They sound so cheerful it’s disgusting. Don’t you idiots have somewhere else to be?”

The group of Gryffindors turned and resisted the urge to collectively groan as a group of the usual Slytherins offenders came up on them. Crabbe Jr., now deceased, was notably absent, as was Draco Malfoy.

"Can't even handle heels and this is the Gryffindor princess, the SAVIOR we are all made to worship?" Pansy Parkinson, the ringleader, spat in disgust as the rest of her posse chuckled lowly. Goyle, for what it was worth, snickered but didn't say anything. 

“‘lright, Parkinson?" Seamus yelled over the crowd, nodding to her in acknowledgement, "Still keeping up the old smear campaign, are we? Not getting enough of that at home, are we?" 

Pansy's nostrils flared, as she withdrew her wand, the other Slytherin's following suit.  

"Well, somebody's got to keep fighting the good fight, haven't they?" Her eyes darted from Hermione to Ginny, a wicked smirk painting her face, "There always has to be somebody trying to cleanse this world of the mudbloods and the blood traitors, though at least a Weasley deep in the cold ground is a good start!” 

"Go to hell!" Ginny roared. Her temper flared, red hair whipping around her like fire as she began to draw her wand. The air around her was crackling with her magic, her response was so intense. Hermione was quicker, though, as she reached out and grabbed her friend's hand before she was able to completely draw it. Ginny's eyes darted to Hermione's, and Hermione shook her head, beckoning her friend to put her wand away. Hermione’s eyes begged for her to understand. Reluctantly, Ginny set her jaw and nodded back, her wand disappearing into the folds of her robes once more. Only Hermione could see the tears beginning in her eyes, the fresh wound of her brother's loss still at the forefront of her heart and mind. 

"Let's go, guys," Hermione shook her head, muttering lowly to her friends. "I've had enough fighting for a lifetime." 

The group of Gryffindors looked back one last time at the Slytherins, who were all standing, wands at the ready, poised for action. Their faces were stony, and their eyes were filled with anger. Hermione's own indignation was peaked after such a scene, she knew, but she couldn't help it. It was natural for the Slytherin posse to bait Hermione and her friends into fighting with them. She just didn't have the stomach for it anymore. Her mind lagged, thinking of both nothing and everything as they followed along the path in silence and finally climbed into one of the carriages. In the back of her mind, Hermione comprehended hearing the surprised, panicked cries of the returning students who could suddenly see the thestrals pulling the carriages, but she tried not to think about it. The worst part of seeing the thestrals wasn't that you could see them, she knew from experience, it was realizing that you had to lose an innocent part of yourself to see them. There was a price with all magic, and Hermione had always thought that seeing thestrals after death was a fair bit of dark magic that no one had discovered yet. 

"Don't listen to Pansy," Luna said gently to a now openly weeping Ginny. Luna moved to touch Ginny's arm with her hand in the briefest of touches, as Ginny's head was buried in her hands as she sobbed. The dreamy smile was uncharacteristically cleared from Luna’s face, though her soft voice was the same as ever. "What she said to you was cruel, but there was pain in her eyes, too. She was just trying to make you not see it. It's like the Nargles, Ginny. They cause disturbances but are hiding themselves from the rest of the world." Suddenly, Hermione understood, although she registered in the back of her mind with amusement that she was actually understanding something Luna had said. It was a trick, a classic example of Slytherin cunning. Go on the offensive right off the bat, and show them no weakness. Pansy would continue bullying this year, and some others probably would as well. It was normal to them, and in a way, comforting to them to stay in what they considered a power position. To hide the pain of their own losses, their own failures, and their own insecurities in a world rapidly changing around them, other students like Pansy were digging deep to obscure their own pain. But, Hermione knew, that was something that no amount of dueling would ever fix. 

"Hey, look at the first years on the lake!" Neville offered, nudging Ginny across from him with his foot as they passed. His expression had been crumpled with sadness as he had helplessly watched Ginny cry, and he seemed secretly proud of himself that he had found something to offer to distract her. Thankfully, his distraction seemed to work, as Ginny looked up from her hands to see the glowing lanterns of the first years passing over the lake. She seemed oddly at peace watching them with tear stains on her cheeks, as a small, blessedly happy smile came over her for a brief moment. They all turned to watch, each of the four knowing instinctively that the others were thinking of their own first voyage across the black lake. It was something of a tradition that returning students did every year as they watched and reminisced about their own sorting ceremony. They watched Hagrid leave the first years for as long as they could, until their carriage came to a sudden stop and everyone began clambering down onto the pathway. It only took a minute or so for her friends to disembark, and soon enough Neville was the second to last down, leaving only Hermione standing in the carriage. She took a moment to admire the mass of students in their billowing robes, a perfect scene of black moving against the black of the night. The only illumination came from the yellowish glow of the pathway’s lanterns, revealing only the heads of the returning students moving through the throng. Taking it all in, Hermione turned her head toward the castle's main entrance where she knew they would all be entering for their final year, and a flash of bright white caught her eye. Straining her eyes to see amongst the darkness, she could just make out that the flash of white was a head turning toward her, and she realized with a start that she was staring into the face of Draco Malfoy. The last to dismount his own carriage car, the two shared a blank glance for only a moment before his head dipped down to his feet and he began to clamber down the steps toward the pavement. 

"He can't even look at me," Hermione thought sadly, before she began dismounting from her own carriage and took Neville's awaiting hand to guide her down. Surrounded by her now chattering friends, the excited buzz surrounding them lulled everyone into the traditional optimism that awaited a new year at Hogwarts. Hermione, though, couldn't quite get into the spirit. She was too concerned with the blonde-haired boy walking with the throng in front of her, wondering sadly if in spite of all of the sacrifices that they all had made to get here, whether the hatred and prejudice of the world had finally tainted him for good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> With that out of the way, I want to address you all as new readers to my fanfiction. I am just now getting back into the swing of things after several years on hiatus. I was in school for much of that time while I pursued a degree in English. That said, I love getting earnest, constructively critical reviews of my writing, or any other feedback that could otherwise help me improve it. 
> 
> It is my goal with this story to make it as real as possible. I want to portray the characters as close to the original canon as I possibly can, in that I am wanting to take the same characters that Rowling so lovingly bestowed upon us so I can explore genuine, post-war growth of these characters. I want to portray how I imagine a life of hardship and trauma has affected these characters we have all grown to love now that they are becoming adults, and even more importantly I want to offer a real look at how two very different, very divided characters such as Draco and Hermione could possibly come to understand, befriend and love one another. Again, this is a slow burn fic, so please bear with me. 
> 
> If there are any times where you feel a character is being OOC, please let me know. If there are times where you feel a situation or scene isn't written well enough, please let me know. Writing is a serious pursuit for me, and even if I may not agree with your feedback, if it is respectful and earnest I would never ever be anything other than grateful for it. 
> 
> Other than all of that, please enjoy. It is going to be a long but beautiful ride and I hope you fall in love with this story as much as I have. 
> 
> -K.


	2. Laceratus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY WILL FEATURE AN IN-DEPTH EXAMINATION OF PTSD AND RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES POST-WAR. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO CONTENT FEATURING DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF NIGHT TERRORS, FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACKS, OR ANY SUCH RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC.

Unlike every other school year she had known, Hermione Granger’s seventh year of Hogwarts began without a hitch.

 

Smoothness seemed to be McGonagall’s goal for this year, as the school was running like a well-oiled machine. The staircases were gleaming, the suits of armor were all polished, and the classes were running on a tight-knit, regular schedule. It all seemed familiar to Hermione, but in an unusual way. She had never seen the staircases shine _that_ much, and had never had classes run _quite_ so efficiently—usually somebody kept them over for a moment or two, especially on their first day to discuss the upcoming semester. After a war, though, Hermione supposed that this emphasis on regulation was to be expected. A tight schedule would keep everyone busy and help the students feel safe and content. If things were running a little too well than she was used to, Hermione supposed she would just have to learn to ignore the prickling feeling of danger that came with such an uncomfortably well-functioning environment. The quiet of the school’s routine unnerved her, and at the turn of every corner Hermione’s trauma-stricken brain expected danger to leap out toward her.

 

Overall, classes had started going well. For many of the returning seventh years, Professor McGonagall had chosen to assign the courses to the students personally. In many cases, the classes were still divided by house, though with so few returning students to choose from, most were lumped in with the existing seventh years. Hermione had potions, charms, and History of Magic with Ginny and the Hufflepuffs, while her other courses consisted of a scattered few returning seventh years from other houses, and the returning Slytherins. These were comprised mostly of her advanced placement courses, such as Arithmancy and Transfiguration. She was taking Defense Against the Dark Arts as well, in spite of everything. It was good fortune that only very few returning Slytherins had been approved to take that course, as many of the returning Slytherin students who had undergone trial with the Wizengamot were prohibited from taking it. As a part of the terms of their probation they were not to go near, practice, or study anything affiliated the dark arts. Ironically, Hermione thought, this included their study of the defense of it.

 

Draco Malfoy, astoundingly, had managed to be one of the very few approved to attend the Defense Against the Dark Arts course. It was a great shock to see him sitting in front of her, third desk from the front, with his materials ready in front of him ten minutes before class started. He was staring straight forward, not looking at anyone or speaking. Next to him sat Theodore Nott, an acquaintance of Malfoy’s, she knew, but she did not ever see them together previously. It was hard to imagine that they were friends, but even Hermione’s knowledge had its limits. Throughout the class, he hadn’t raised his hand once, instead favoring keeping his head down and his note-taking hand busy. It seemed that for once in his life, he didn’t want to create any trouble.

 

“Hey,” Ginny interrupted, leaning over to whisper into Hermione’s ear, “What did Professor Sprout just say about Wiggentree seeds?”

 

Her question had jarred Hermione back to reality, and she was surprised that she had actually managed to let her mind wander during a lecture. It was especially concerning, perhaps, because she had been daydreaming about Draco Malfoy. Covering for her uncharacteristic behavior, she nudged Ginny with her elbow before nodding to the professor, and resuming her fullest attention to the front of the classroom. She knew that Ginny would follow suit, and they would have the opportunity to discuss her question later.

 

Still, Hermione wondered. She wondered why the new potions teacher couldn’t seem to get through a sentence without coughing into his hand. She wondered what Harry and Ron were doing, kilometers away from Hogwarts while undergoing their training with the Ministry. And she wondered, her gaze once again glazing over as her thoughts overtook her, what could possibly cause Draco Malfoy to meet her eyes and cast them immediately downward for a second time in two days, as he had done as he left their Defense Against the Dark Arts class earlier this afternoon.

* * *

“You don’t understand!” A desperate voice screamed outside the doors of the Great Hall, silencing everyone within. In one smooth motion, the entire student body’s heads jerked toward the source of the commotion, taking in the scene. A fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stood just outside the Great Hall’s massive wooden doors, their argument taking over any sense of rationality they both may have possessed. 

 

“It’s my problem, whether you want to admit that or not! Leave it alone, Rachel!” The Ravenclaw screamed back at her friend, gesturing wildly and beginning to turn away from her to make a hasty exit.

 

“You’ve been my best friend since first year, April, it is too my problem! Don’t walk away from me, please!” The Hufflepuff pleaded, tears in her eyes as she rushed toward her retreating friend. Both students were out of sight at this point, though it stopped no one from listening to their emotional scene. Someone could have dropped a needle in the Great Hall in that moment, and everyone could have heard it. No one even dared to breathe.

 

“You’re having nightmares, I know. I get it, we all do. Merlin, who hasn’t had nightmares since last year?” The Hufflepuff girl, Rachel, begged. “But you cannot, you _cannot_ , keep using sleeping draught to solve your sleep problems! I know you’re dedicated to your duties but you cannot keep pushing yourself to the point of an accidental death because of your nightmares. You know how strong and addictive the stuff is! Please, just go to Madam Pomfrey—”

 

“Leave me ALONE!” The Ravenclaw, April, shouted, as she jerked free of her friend’s arm. The motion sent her flailing backwards onto the floor, though no one in the Great Hall could see. They heard the sound, though, of a body hitting the ground, and suddenly everything was in chaos. A sea of students—especially the older students—were suddenly rushing the door, as if on high alert, though before they could get to the Great Hall’s doors the heavy oak had swung shut and locked all of the students inside. A deafening roar of voices had come over the Great Hall since Rachel had hit the ground, only to be encouraged by the students suddenly rushing the door until Professor McGonagall, using a sonorus charm, authoritatively yelled, “SILENCE!”

 

As if a clock counting down to the last few seconds of a timer, everything seemed to freeze into slow motion for a moment. The students in the Great Hall turned to face a now standing Headmistress McGonagall, for the first time noticing that Professors Sprout and Flitwick were now absent from the staff table. “To your seats.” Professor McGonagall commanded, looking every bit as stern and commanding as she had when she led the students in battle last year to the bridge. No one dared to defy her, and everyone returned to their seats silently and with haste.

 

“I understand that we have just had a chaotic moment, but as a single student body I hope I can trust for you all not to do that again.” She stared the students down with intent, her gaze traveling up and down each and every house’s table until she had completely made eye contact with everyone. Again, no one dared to breathe.

 

“We have undergone something terrible as an institution. I understand that.” She nodded sympathetically to her students, her face softening into a sad smile. “We have all seen and done horrible things. I even understand that for some of you, in that moment there was a desire to spring to action to protect someone you care about. It may have even been instinctual, given what we have all been through.” She nodded solemnly, before continuing.

 

“I cannot punish any of you for reacting the way you did, but please be warned that this warning will not be repeated. The next time any of you act like that, I will be forced to take away house points. The danger has passed. The war is won. And now, it is absolutely imperative for us to piece ourselves back together and to reunite as the school that we have always been. Even more importantly, though this is a much harder task, in my opinion—I need you ALL to remember that you are students. You are simply students.” Her eyes closed for a brief moment, before her mouth settled into its characteristic firm line. “Many of you are not adults yet. You are not soldiers, or warriors. You are students, here to learn, just as you were years ago as children. Please try to go back to that place of innocence, and try to put that need to constantly be on guard behind you. Madam Pomfrey is always available for anyone especially affected by the events of last year, and for anyone having difficulties—whether they be outside of class or during—please do not be afraid to seek out your head of house or another teacher. If you do not feel comfortable doing that, any staff member will be available to you. Even Mr. Filch has agreed to report any incidents of need to me, should the need arise. Please, seek out anyone you trust. Even the Hogwarts ghosts have made themselves amenable. Though, I would still avoid including Peeves in any earnest requests for help.” The Headmistress’ eyes narrowed with mild irritation, and several amused chuckles echoed around the hall, despite the seriousness of the topic. Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened in surprise at the resulting laughter, before a small smile took over her face.

 

“The bottom line is, the goal of this institution is still the same as it has always been. You are students, and we want you to feel comfortable here being students. If you have any issues, please bring them to a staff member or trustworthy ghost, and we will do what we can to help you. Although what we have been through is reprehensible, for those of you who are so young to have gone through it is worse still. If you see a friend struggling who is unable to come to help, please find a trustworthy adult so that we can help them. There will be no penalty for doing so. Just please remember that we are Hogwarts, you are its students, and it is absolutely imperative that we must take care of one another from now on. If we fail to do so, we will be absolutely no better than we were before.”

 

With a wave of her hand, the food at the tables reappeared, and the Headmistress gave the order to resume eating with a tiny, crooked smile. 

* * *

“That was some dinner, huh?” Ginny asked as she peeled her socks off her feet and threw them in the laundry hamper. Another problem with the low number of returning seventh years—they were forced into dorms with the younger seventh year class. Hermione’s new dorm—which she had once occupied with Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, was dreadfully silent. She had been so used to the constant gossip and chatter between the three girls, and with them gone the quiet was truly eerie. With so few returning to Hogwarts this year, even among the younger classes, the dorm rooms just felt…off. This year, Hermione was sharing a dorm with Ginny, Loretta Green (a classmate of Ginny’s) and Fay Dunbar, who had chosen to return. She had been a roommate of Hermione’s all through these years. ‘At least there is a familiar face,’ Hermione sighed to herself, even though she didn’t know Fay all that well. It was still nice to have that companionship, though, so she knew she wasn’t completely alone in this new, strange year without Ron and Harry.

 

“Well, it was quite disturbing, if that’s what you mean,” Loretta offered, as she lifted the corner of her covers and slid into her own bed. “I felt so badly for April, though. I know her family, albeit only by extension. I feel horrible that she has been so affected and I had no idea.” Loretta shook her head, and reached up to remove her glasses, settling in for the night. By now, the other girls had all climbed into their own beds and started the process of winding down for the day as well. Hermione had drawn her curtains around her bed and settled in with a book, having casted a lumos spell so she could read.

 

“Everyone has been suffering, Loretta.” Fay offered, “That was Professor McGonagall’s point, I think. That’s why helping each other is so important. The important thing now is that we do something about it when we see others suffering going forward.”

 

“Exactly,” Ginny’s voice sounded through the room, clearly and confidently. “So we all need to be on the lookout for signs that people are struggling. Right, Hermione?”

 

“Right” Hermione offered, trying not to let her tiredness show. Though she was exhausted from the day, that was true enough, she had a hard time showing her permanent exhaustion to the others. Thankfully so many others were going through the same thing she was, so it was easier to mask in the crowd. She already had the eyes of the entire Wizarding world on her, she didn’t need the searching eyes of the entire student body on her as well.

 

Between the memories of the final battle and the memories of seeing all of the dead laid out in the Great Hall, her day to day life attending classes had been more difficult than she cared to admit. It was so difficult walking down the 5th corridor without screaming, remembering the way Amycus Carrow had leapt out from around that corner, wand pointed at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. His sister, Alecto, not far behind him with cackling laughter, chasing her through the corridor in pursuit. Every time she ate in the Great Hall, she had to try hard not to think about seeing Remus Lupin and Tonks’ bodies lying together, hands on top of one another, or the Weasley family gathered around Fred’s body, screaming and weeping in agony over their loss.

 

Hermione hastily pressed her eyes tightly shut, willing the tears to disappear. The last thing she needed right now was for the others to hear her sniffles or sobs. Thinking of her studies instead, she willed herself to come out of her memories so she could focus on her reading. After a few moments it worked enough to where she wasn’t crying, but she was still lost to her thoughts of the past.

 

As the low chatter of the other girls died down and each of the four offered their goodnights to one another, Hermione’s exhausted mind still raced into the early morning hours, when she finally fell into an uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

“You know,” Nott started, speaking into the utter silence of their dormitory, “You’re not the same person I knew years ago. Who are you?”

 

Groaning internally, Draco Malfoy knew better than to answer. Theodore Nott was a genius and always had been. The man was like a walking lie detector, utterly silent and impenetrable. Draco Malfoy, though he had respected him and had even befriended him during most of their childhood, never had fully, completely trusted him. He had always trusted him with what was most important, though, and that was always enough.

 

Now that he was asking questions, Malfoy knew he was in danger…mostly because he knew he would never be able to avoid them.

 

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked, his arm thrown across his eyes, his tone dead. The curtains were drawn around his bed, though, so it wasn’t as if Theo could see his childish stance. Something told Draco he could tell anyway, though. “And you’re lucky we’re the only one in this dorm room this year. If you asked me something dumb like that with someone else in this room, I would have to kill you.”

 

Right on cue, Nott’s expressionless face was hovering above his, the hiss of Draco’s bed curtains drawn back with a single expert motion. “I mean exactly what I said.” Nott said blankly, ignoring Draco’s other comment. “Who are you?” He repeated.

 

Draco scoffed in irritation before launching himself up from his bed in a childish display of excessive energy, slapping his hands on his thighs as he did so. “Why do you always have to wait until the middle of the bloody night to ask me these things, Theo? Why can’t, just for once, you ask me philosophical questions about my existence on a lazy afternoon by the Black Lake?” Draco sighed heavily, before throwing himself back to lie flat on his bed, again with more energy than necessary. He drew his arms up and tucked them underneath his head, determined to stare up at top of his bed rather than meeting Theo’s eyes. He knew from experience that the more childish he acted, the less Theo would be able to read from him and the less he would want to do with him.

 

“Hmmm.” Theo hummed, before a tiny smirk cocked at one of the corner’s of his mouth. He nodded to himself, then pulled away, pulling the curtain back into place around Draco’s bed and retreating to his own. Draco lay in stunned silence for a moment, before drawing back the curtain around his bed with indignation. “Hey!”

 

“What?” Theo asked patiently, as he was tucking himself in to his own bed. He offered nothing else, which only further irritated Draco.

 

“You woke me up—I was almost asleep and you asked me a question, and now you’re walking off and going to bed? That’s ridiculous!”

 

“How is that ridiculous?” Theo asked, shrugging, before whispering “Nox” to his own wand and submerging the room in complete darkness.

 

“Nott!” Draco yelled, frustrated, as he walked over to Theo’s bed and stood above him with his own lit wand, fuming. “You wanted to talk—what do you want?!”

 

“Oh, _now_ you’re in the mood to talk--” Theo rolled his eyes, then, turning, raised a calculated eyebrow at Draco, “I do believe I already asked you my question. I was just waiting on my answer. Though to answer your childish query about why I don’t ask you these questions by the Black Lake, you know as well as I do that it’s because I don’t want us to be overheard.”

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed, though he said nothing. He understood, he was just wanting to get under Theo’s skin. As usual, though, his attempt failed. Nothing could ever successfully get under Theodore Nott’s skin. The man was perfectly stoic, a true picture of the studious pureblood gentleman his father had raised him to be, for better or worse.

 

“I still don’t understand what the bloody hell you mean, Nott.” Draco fumed, “What do you mean, ‘Who are you?’ I’m Draco Malfoy, the same one I’ve always been.” Draco threw his arms into the air, exasperated.

 

“Oh no, you’re not.” Theo started, removing the bed covers from his body and turning to rise from his own bed. Standing, he met Draco’s gaze in front of their window. Between their lit wands and the greenish hue from the water of the Black Lake showing through their dorm’s window, the room was cast with a faint, eerie green glow. It illuminated the two boys’ faces, Draco’s soft features glowing and Theo’s hard cheekbones becoming even sharper in the light.

 

“You’re different this year.” Theo casted his eyes downward, sweeping over his long time friend. “I’m just not entirely sure how. Some of you is the same, sure…but so much of you is different. And I’m not completely convinced it’s all from the war.” Theo’s eyes came back up to his own, piercing. He had a way of doing that to whoever he talked to, as if he could see into exactly who they were and what they wanted with a single glance. It was utterly terrifying. Truly, it was a completely Slytherin trait, Draco thought.

 

“It must have been the war,” Draco said, though he offered nothing else. His expression was hard. He didn’t need to explain, and wouldn’t. Even though he and Theo had had a falling out during their fourth year, he didn’t owe that explanation to anybody, and he refused to give it. Even to Theo.

 

For a few moments, the two just stared at each other. Neither said anything, neither moved. They just stared unflinchingly into one another’s eyes, as if daring the other to say something. Finally, the moment seemed to break due to a soft tap on the glass from some unknown source in the Black Lake—probably a fish or a rock—before the two broke apart. They each took a step back at the same time, signifying a draw. Theo gave a nod almost too small for Draco to notice, before he backed away toward his bed, still facing Draco. “Must be” Theo replied strangely, though it was evident he wasn’t buying Draco’s excuse.

 

“It is.” Draco said, firmly, as he backed away toward his own bed, eyes still on Theo’s face. The two broke apart from one another’s gazes at the same time and climbed into bed once again. Both cancelled the Lumos spell on their wands, and placed them on their bedside tables. Then, closing his eyes, Draco praised his luck that Theo dropped the subject so easily.

 

Several long minutes went by with no more conversation, and just as Draco was about to fall into a fitful sleep, Theo quietly said: “You just don’t know yourself yet, Draco. But give it time. You will.” He rolled over in his bed and faced the other wall away from Draco, then soon after fell into his own sleep. Fully awake now and with his mind occupied, Draco folded his arms under his head again and stared up at the canopy of his four poster bed. Theo was nothing if not sharp to a fault, and though Draco hated it sometimes he had to admit that Theo was almost always right about everything. No, Draco mused, hindsight always being 20/20 and all—Theo had _always_ been right about everything. He had been the only Slytherin pureblood friend Draco had that had tried to stay away from Voldemort’s influence, not believing the pureblood superiority trope from the beginning. Nott was just clever and outside of influence enough to know how to avoid it. Multiple times, he and Theo had argued about it while growing up, though Draco had always stubbornly clung to his father’s coat tails and refused to think for himself on the issue. After the Dark Lord’s return during their fourth year, Theo had warned him during their final, friendship-ending fight that his refusal to find his own stance on the issue was what would end up getting him killed. Draco winced at the memory. Damn if Theo wasn’t right about that, too. Briefly, Draco wondered Theo’s family had had a seer in their family bloodline, though he quickly dismissed the possibility. Theo was just brilliant, as he always had been, and Draco…

 

Draco frowned and sighed, reaching one hand up to rub his eyes tiredly. Who was he, really? It was a question Theo had asked him more than once, over the years. Memories struck Draco of them playing together as very small boys out in the gardens of Malfoy manor, “Let’s play Aurors and Outlaws!” Draco would shout in glee, as a young Theo’s eyes would sparkle in delight. “Okay. Who are you?” Theo would ask, and though they would always try to rotate, Draco would usually pick the Auror.

 

Comfortable in his own bed, Draco frowned. He supposed it was strange that for all of those years he had always chosen the Auror as a child. Even though his father had been doing some terrible things at the time and Draco only knew them to be noble, he should have understood then that Aurors were against his father’s side of doing things. Shouldn’t he?

 

A loud sigh escaped him as he rolled over, trying to get comfortable. Though he closed his eyes and tossed and turned, sleep avoided him. Theo’s interruption—while it certainly hadn’t helped with his restlessness—had blessedly deterred his mind from its usual plague of horrific images that overtook him as soon as his eyes closed at night. Sighing, Draco’s eyes fell on his parents’ signet rings on his own fingers. The rings had been in the Malfoy family for generations, and each symbolized a promise to a committed partner for marriage. He kept his father’s ring on his right ring finger, a reminder of a promise he had made to himself to uphold his duty to his family and to be a better man. Since that was his dominant hand, Draco would see the ring on his finger before he signed any paperwork, and he would see it any time he lifted his wand to cast a spell. His mother’s ring…Draco closed his eyes, pain surging through his heart. His mother was dead, so it didn’t do to dwell on it. Still, he kept her ring on his left ring finger, the closest ring to his own heart. He had loved his mother deeply.

 

Making a decision to keep the past in the past, Draco once again closed his eyes in an effort to sleep. As they so often had before, in front of his closed eyes the images assaulted him once again—bodies of tortured muggles, blood running off of his dining room table into the rug on their floor, Voldemort’s snake feasting on Charity Burbage’s corpse, muggle girls being raped and then executed, Voldemort’s laughing face, his mother’s dead body—Draco slammed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing, but it wasn’t working. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before he finally fell into a fitful sleep, although it wasn’t long at all before he awoke in the early hours of the morning to his own terrified scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene for the year is now set! Who else is excited? 
> 
> There are big changes at Hogwarts this year, and that is what this chapter is about. Originally titled "pieces," this chapter (Laceratus) is the Latin word for a close translation of what I imagine things to be like at Hogwarts. In tears, in shambles, in pieces left to pick up. Laceratus is a Latin root for the word "Lacerate," if that helps. A more literal translation would be "to tear, to rip," but you get the gist. :) 
> 
> I wanted this chapter to reveal the jarring differences from years previous at Hogwarts. How the students behave, how the school is functioning, and of course the mindset of where our characters are. 
> 
> Draco and Theo's relationship is interesting as well, and I think it will be a refreshing dynamic for you readers when the story finally starts to pick up speed. For now, the goal is to keep us all guessing and wondering what will become of such an unlikely pair. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> -K.


	3. Judicium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY WILL FEATURE AN IN-DEPTH EXAMINATION OF PTSD AND RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES POST-WAR. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO CONTENT FEATURING DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF NIGHT TERRORS, FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACKS, OR ANY SUCH RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC.

Another week found Hermione Granger curled up against the window sill in her dorm on a rainy, mid-September day. Rolls of parchment, textbooks and a large bottle of ink were sprawled out on the seat around her. The dorm was cool from the rain, a fresh scent lingering slightly from the moisture around the window pane. This window seat had always been one of her favorite places in the castle, since she had the advantage of watching the world outside while she studied. She had been working on a Charms assignment, comparing more complicated forms of levitation magic to some of the simpler spells she had learned as a first and second year. And although she had always been a bookworm and she was truly enjoying the assignment, the soft lull and rushing sound of the wind and rain through the castle grounds was proving to be a distraction. If she closed her eyes, she could almost go to sleep...almost feel peace for the first time in months. 

 

Almost. 

 

She brought a hand up to rub her temples, a stress headache beginning to form. It had been this way since she had arrived--even the studious, brilliant Hermione Granger was having trouble concentrating in classes. Thankfully no one had seemed to notice yet. While she was determined to keep it quiet, she knew if she were being honest with herself that it was only a matter of time until she would be discovered. 

 

‘ _No matter how desperately you want to be, you're not half as clever as they think you are. You can't hide_.' Her eyes closed involuntarily, in an effort to block the intrusive thoughts from invading her already sensitive psyche. The last thing she needed right now was another attack on her peace, even if it came from within herself. She forced herself to take a deep breath, noting with surprise at how deeply her chest seemed to fill with air all of a sudden. Had she been breathing shallowly before? She hadn't noticed. Her breath shuddered as she exhaled, small sections of the window pane in front of her fogging up from the heat meeting the cold glass. Trying not to think of anything in particular, she reached a finger up to trace nonsensical figures in the fog on the window in front of her. 

 

It was strange, really, how hard only a couple of weeks away had been. She missed Harry and Ron terribly, although she understood they weren't able to write very much given their rigorous Auror training. Harry had promised to try to write sometime this week when they had bid her their farewells this summer. Ron had remained silent, but things were more complicated with him. After their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts, she thought the two of them were perfectly fine and heading toward a relationship with one another...until the very moment they laid eyes on his brother's body in the Great Hall, and she knew that the Weasley family would never be the same. She could still plainly see the look of agony on Molly's face, the desperate tears falling from Ron and George's eyes as they leaned over their fallen brother. Ron had been broken beyond repair, choosing to stay with his family to grieve. It was a horrible memory for them all. Even now, she remembered with perfect detail the scars and laugh lines on Fred's face, and how his mouth was still quirked up into his last laugh on his cold, unmoving face. 

 

"Don't think, don't think, don't think…” Hermione whimpered to herself, thrusting her head into both of her hands as tears sprang from her eyes, her breaths coming in gasps and her heart clenching in despair at the memory. "Think of puppies...think of Christmas...think of seeing Harry and Ron again..." Her attempt at interrupting her thoughts did not help. Hermione's fingers tightened in her hair as they clenched into fists, her silent tears beginning to turn into sobs. 

 

She knew the events of the war had scarred her, though she hadn’t quite understood exactly how much until she had spent the past couple of weeks here. She had known she was having difficulty sleeping, but she knew everyone had been. She wasn’t special, no more special than any of the victims that had lost their lives in this war. They all celebrated her and called referred to her as part of ‘The Golden Trio,’ whatever that was supposed to mean, despite the fact that they had been living in the woods not 8 months before, struggling to survive. Eight months ago they were eating mushrooms and berries, scavenging to survive. Eight months ago they braved harsh weather with only magic and a tent to prevent their own decline. Eight months ago…everyone was still alive. And although she knew it wasn’t her fault, knew she couldn’t possibly have prevented it all—she buried herself in her tears as the guilt flowed through her, the anguish of last year finally rushing at her all at once.

 

“I’m nothing but a useless crybaby,” Hermione hissed, punching her fist down next to her right thigh as her angry tears flowed freely. “I could be doing something more useful, something better right now to move forward. I could be working for the ministry instead of studying here at Hogwarts, living in the past…I could be doing whatever I could to honor their memories and prevent this from ever happening again. So why am I crying? Why did I stay _?”_

 

She, of course, knew the answer to that already, though confronting the truth now would only make her cry harder. For now, she just had to come to terms with the reality that the war had left unexpected scars on them all—Harry’s in the scars on his forehead and his hand, Ron’s in the lines of despair and grief etched into his face and on his heart, and Hermione’s in her mind and in the word ‘ _Mudblood_ ’ carved into her arm.

 

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she registered the voices coming up the stairs. And although she knew she had certainly been crying for at least ten minutes, since her shirt was wet—suddenly, she couldn't remember what she had been crying about at all. With the stress of the threat of being found out, her mind cleared suddenly and she focused entirely on the task at hand: hiding the evidence, immediately. She grabbed her wand and cast a drying charm on her robes, removing the wetness from her tears. A quick cleansing charm on her face made quick work of her ruined mascara and the tear tracks on her cheeks, and she stood and began to tidy up her workspace. Realizing too late that her ink pot had spilled during her breakdown, she upturned it and had just managed to clean up the mess when the door to their dorm clicked open. 

 

"Hey, Hermione." Loretta nodded, as she walked over to her bed next to Ginny's. The 7th year girls had taken the beds closest to the door, while she and Faye had the beds closest to the window. They had earned it, Ginny had insisted at the beginning of the year, though Hermione didn't at all agree with the logic. She much would have preferred to keep it fair and toss a sickle over it all, but as the rest of the girls were in agreement about the policy it made no sense to start a disagreement over it. 

 

Hermione nodded in response, before offering: "I was just heading to the library."

 

"Oh," Loretta frowned. “I thought you were going to come downstairs and play Gobstones with Ginny and I this evening?"

 

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered sadly, trying not to give away her anxiety of being caught in the room by shifting her weight on her feet. "I have an essay to write, and since it's the first one of the year, I want to make a good impression."

 

Loretta nodded, though she was obviously disappointed. She turned around to grab the game out of her trunk before catching Hermione at the door and wishing her luck on her essay. With a quick word of thanks, Hermione was out the door and on her way down the stairs with a flurried energy that wasn't completely uncommon for her evening trips to the library. The other Gryffindors didn't even think to question her when they saw her quick pace and her schoolbag draped over her shoulder. As she stepped out of the portrait and made her way down the halls of the school, her mind returned to Loretta. It wasn't that she a bad roommate at all, she just wasn't someone that Hermione knew particularly well or enjoyed talking to without others included. And after her emotional display this afternoon, Hermione wasn't much in the mood for company. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Bloody Hell!” Ginny moaned Friday evening, sinking into the seat next to her on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. The fire was roaring and the chatter in the room was to such a decibel level that only those who made it a blatant mission to eavesdrop would have any success in doing so. The gold and red accents of the room surrounded them in such a way that Ginny’s hair was offset against the deep red of the couch they were sitting on, the flames of the fireplace only illuminating its movement as she settled.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione blinked, internally sighing as she marked her place in her book and closed it, setting it beside her thigh to resume reading later.

 

“Bloody Draco Malfoy, that’s what’s wrong!” She fumed, tossing her head back against the back of the couch, repeatedly throwing her head backwards into it in a show of her displeasure. “Professor Stone sent me a letter to come speak with her this evening, so I went to her office. Just got back. She asked me to partner with Malfoy for our first partner project this semester. Blimey, I have to work with Draco bloody Malfoy for six weeks!” Again, Ginny groaned and buried her head into her hands, only letting them fall after her eyes rekindled with their fiery hatred of him. She turned her angry gaze back to Hermione: “How am I going to get through this course without killing him?” She spat.

 

“Well, I could always take your wand from you,” Hermione offered, half joking. Hermione puzzled over the fact that the professor had asked Ginny to partner with Malfoy, specifically. The assignments were supposed to be mandatory and randomly assigned, and all students from all houses would participate this year. Headmaster McGonagall was enforcing the policy as an effort to battle inter-house conflict. When she turned back around from gazing into the fireplace to look at her friend, she let out a laugh despite herself. Ginny was positively fuming at her suggestion. “Do you think this is funny?” Ginny growled, her brown eyes flickering molten gold from the spark of her temper ignited within them.

 

“No no, Ginny, I don’t think it’s funny.” Hermione said seriously, trying to support her friend. She had raised her hands in front of her body and waved them in a defensive gesture that seemed to relax Ginny, if only marginally. Hermione contemplated for a moment, then added: “Why does the Professor want you to specifically to work with him, anyway?”

 

“Because of you.” Ginny deadpanned. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise, her jaw slightly dropping open in shock.

 

“You’re—You’re kidding! Why is it because of me?” She thought back to all of her interactions with Draco this year, and they were all entirely innocent. Merlin, they had only looked at each other twice! It was completely harmless. Unable to contain herself, Hermione added somewhat defensively, “What did I do?” Her eyebrows furrowed in thought, her gaze returning pensively to the fire.

 

“Apparently, he just asked not to be paired with you,” Ginny shrugged, sending Hermione a look that obviously was supposed to tell her more than her simple statement did. Hermione searched Ginny’s expression, but was unable to find what Ginny was trying to subtly tell her. She opted to ask her about it later. Even though the common room was loud at the moment, she decided not to risk being overheard. “What do you mean, he asked not to be paired with me?” Hermione was genuinely confused. Sure, they had had their awkward moments of meeting eyes since their return to the school two weeks ago, but that had only happened twice! How could he possibly have taken offense to that, even if he did—

 

Oh.

 

“He still hates me.” Hermione spoke, nodding slowly as her disbelief turned to anger, anger turning into indignation. “Why else would he avoid me?”

 

“Honestly, ‘Mione? I thought the same thing.” Ginny growled, meeting Hermione’s furious gaze with a matched one of her own. “Looks like even after the war, even after you and Harry _defended_ him to the Wizengamot for his lazy attempt at saving you at the Malfoy Manor, that slimy git will never change. He’s still going to be a spoiled, wretched man like his father was. I seriously can’t believe after all we went through—this is how he’s going to treat you? You’re better off having no contact with him, Hermione—“

 

“Stop it. Just stop it, okay?” Hermione was suddenly very, very tired. She reached up a hand to drag over her face, exhaustion setting in even though it was barely six in the evening. “I don’t want to think about it any more.”

 

“Hermione,” Ginny leaned over, placing her hands in Hermione’s, holding them delicately and looking up into her friends eyes. They were filled with genuine warmth and kindness and they drew Hermione in helplessly. “You must NOT listen to that git. Do you understand me? No matter what he says, no matter what he does, no matter what happens this year, if he does anything and I mean _anything_ to you this year, you come and find me, okay? I will hit him with curses so nasty he will be begging for one of my Bat Boogey hexes!” Despite herself, the volume of her rant had increased to a shout and Ginny leapt up from the couch, shaking her fists furiously. The action had drawn the attention of the common room, and suddenly all eyes were on her. Luckily, they had only seemed to catch on with her uncharacteristic dramatic movement, though, and no one seemed to have heard much of the conversation taking place moments before.

 

“Uhh,” Ginny started uneasily, a tingling sensation starting at the back of her neck. “Uh—oh yeah! As Team Captain, I am required to ask: Who here is interested in Quidditch Tryouts this year?”

 

The sudden, excited roar that overtook the Gryffindor common room overtook any awkwardness that had just occurred per Ginny’s social faux pas, and the extreme volume level continued through the halls as the large group of students made their way down to the Great Hall together for their evening meal. Ginny, at least, seemed to be in her element, her despair about her Defense Against the Dark Arts partner momentarily forgotten as she chatted animatedly about the upcoming Quidditch season. Tryouts were coming in just a few weeks, and even Hermione was able to join in on the happy mood. Soon enough the matches would be starting, and she would be able to start having quiet evenings in by herself. 

 

* * *

 

On her way back from the library, Hermione surged toward the Gryffindor common room, a slight spring in her step. She had decided to make a quick trip up to get some books before returning to the dormitory for the evening after dinner, and she had found several different books that looked promising. One was research for an essay she had been working on, and the other two currently pressed against her chest promised an evening or two of some interesting bedtime reading before she fell asleep: the first, a study dedicated to the changing of Patronuses over time, and the second, an in-depth study on the effects of transfiguration techniques performed as a medical remedy to disfigured persons. Specifically, such techniques could help those who do not respond well to standard healing spells for skin graphs, those born with physical deformities, accident-based disfigurements, etc., etc.

 

All in all it had turned out to be a wonderful evening, Hermione grinned, as she remembered how flushed Neville had been when he gushed over Hannah Abbott’s newly reported return to Hogwarts. He had run over to them mid-meal, panting and obviously flustered, to share the news. Apparently she was to return on Monday next week.

 

“Blimey, Neville, you’re gushing about her like you like her!” Ginny laughed, her words genuinely meant to only be the light teasing tone of a friend…until Neville’s flushed cheeks deepened to a shade of red darker than the Rememberall his grandmother had given him first year.

 

Hermione and Ginny threw their heads back at his mortified expression and roared with laughter, his hands coming up in front of him in a defensive stance as he tried to hush them. Their laughter was beginning to draw unwanted attention to their conversation, and it only distressed him all the more. Poor Neville’s ears started to turn red in his distress, and finally Ginny leaned over to him with a wicked smile and whispered, “We’ll help you, Neville! We’ll talk more about this later.” The mischievous grin that stole over her face afterward was enough to even make Hermione worry for the poor man, though she knew at least Neville had her to help keep Ginny under control.

 

A soft giggle escaped her as she rounded the corner to one of the hallways, and as soon as she realized what she was looking at she stopped dead in her tracks. There, in front of her, was Draco Malfoy. He had stopped in the same, sudden manner that she had when she realized who was standing before her. They both eyed each other warily, not quite knowing what to say. Roaming her gaze over him, Hermione realized that the dark circles under his eyes had not improved. His hair was as blond and as well-kept as ever, even if the greasy robes he had on told a different story. Hermione frowned. Was that—was that oil he had all over his robes? Watching where her eyes had travelled, Draco quickly pulled his hands back into the sleeve of his robes, hiding them, but not before Hermione realized that his hands were covered in oil as well. What had he been doing up here?

 

In an obvious attempt to salvage what was left of his control over the situation, Malfoy stared at her in the same intimidating manner he always had. He allowed a slight, arrogant smile to cross his face, before he offered a simple, tiny nod. “Granger,” he greeted, before cooly moving past her.

 

The nonchalant action made Hermione’s blood boil, and her Gryffindor indignation rose up in her again. How dare he act like she was nothing, even when— _especially when_ —he had hurt her so?

 

“Stop.” She commanded, and sure enough her tone was enough to make him stop incredulously. They were shoulder to shoulder now, roughly, and he turned to face her at the same time that she turned to face him. She met his arrogant look with a furious one of her own.

 

“Why are you avoiding me?” She demanded, truthfully before she was even consciously aware of what she had said. Her Gryffindor indignation had reared its ugly head, and she was determined to get answers. She had helped him when he had no one to do so, testifying for him in the Wizengamot on behalf of his bravery and willingness to lie to Death Eaters to save their lives. Even at the worst of the war, and although he was no saint, they had helped each other. How could he treat her so?

 

“Ah, Granger, how sweet. I had no idea you had such an attachment to me.” An evil smirk drew across his lips, and he folded his arms in front of his chest as he looked down at her in amusement. “If you missed me you could always just say so.”

 

“Cut the shit, Malfoy,” she growled between her teeth, trying not to let her temper get the best of her. Her wand had fallen into her hand from inside her robes, involuntarily, though the cool press of the wood against her hand brought her back to reality for a moment. She stowed it again and took a moment to calm herself, knowing that if she rounded on him with accusations their conversation would get no where and it would invoke his temper. “I know you asked Professor Stone to keep me from being your partner this year.” She started. “What is your plan, exactly? Are you just going to ignore me forever? After everything Harry and I have done for you? After everything we’ve done for each other?”

 

Although there was no visible change in his facial expression, Malfoy’s eyes grew dark, dangerous. Only to the highly trained eye could one see that his expression had actually becomecolder, calculated. There was something unusual about it, and it struck Hermione as uncharacteristic for the Malfoy—arrogant prat though he had always been—that she knew. His coldness prevailed, and he stared her down, refusing to answer.

 

“Damn it, Malfoy! I am trying to extend an olive branch to you, here!” Hermione growled, placing her hands on her hips in frustration. “You won’t even answer me!”

 

“What exactly would you have me do? We are not friends, Granger.” He stated, lowly, dangerously. The sharp edge of his teeth were beginning to show as his lip curled in displeasure. “What would you have me do, exactly?” He took a menacing step toward her, using his height to try to intimidate her. “What exactly is the code of etiquette for this situation? What would _you_ do, little miss Gryffindor Princess?” He snarled.

 

“I would do exactly what I’m doing now!” Hermione threw her hands up in the air, taking a step forward and raising her chin defiantly, and staring into his eyes. “I would ask why the hell you are pretending like none of it ever happened.” They stood facing each other for a few moments before Hermione remembered her mission to keep calm. ‘Provoking him is not the answer,’ a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her, though it was currently very much muted by her anger. She sighed, closed her eyes and once again brought her gaze to meet his cold expression. “Look, I know we’ve been through some shit but students this year are supposed to watch out for each other,” she started, albeit a tad uneasily. She took another step forward and gently took her right hand and gripped his left arm, before looking into his eyes and continuing, “and I know that those dark circles aren’t healthy, Malfoy.” She indicated to the bags under his eyes, obvious evidence of his haunted look and lack of sleep.

 

His cold persona failing him for a moment, a strange, disbelieving expression came across his face. His eyes flitted rapidly back and forth between her own eyes, as if searching them for her intent before the reality of what she was doing seemed to hit him fully. When it did, his explosive fury hit him full force. “Get your filthy hand off of me, you fucking Mudblood!” He roared, wrenching his arm away from her grip forcefully as he stormed past. “And stay the fuck away from me!”

 

As she watched his blond hair whip around the corner, his robes glistening from the filth and the oil covering them, she felt her own rage build up inside of her all over again. Her friends were right, in all of their repeated warnings to her about his character, about how it all seemed too good to be true. His quiet, contemplative side following the fall of Voldemort had all been lies, his efforts to appear normal and humble all a mere a tactic of survival. There was no change of character for him, and there never would be. Even a war couldn’t teach Draco Malfoy to change his opinion about her kind. She should have known better, truly, but she had always hoped that after even the limited displays of his goodness that she had seen from him during the war that he would be able to redeem himself, to build back up what he had lost. Although she had always hated his guts because he was cruel to her, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to needlessly suffer. But now she was furious—furious at the world, furious at him, but most of all furious at herself that she ever thought she saw anything good in Draco Malfoy at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get steamy, and not in the fun way! 
> 
> Tempers are clashing, but nobody and everybody at the same time is willing to admit fault. Makes for quite a dilemma, no? 
> 
> Here we see the first real representation of Hermione's emotional state. It has been hinted at in previous chapters--more dissociation effects in chapters one and two, but here we start to see how things are creeping up on her. We started to see a little bit more of an honest display of Draco's struggles at the end of the previous chapter. What do you think? Is Hermione still the strong, determined, stubborn heroine we have always known and loved? Or do you think that the effects of her trauma have weakened her too much as a main character? Of course, I think we can all agree that I would never see Hermione as anything but strong, but as it turns out writing an emotionally damaged main character (let alone two) is harder than I expected. 
> 
> I also can't shake the feeling that something is missing from my writing. Something that is more qualitative, substantive, but not necessarily lacking in plot. (Though if you have critiques as always I would love to hear them!) I may go back here and there and replace the first two chapters with a little more scene/visual description, but that won't take me long at all. After I read through them again before I proofread this finished chapter, the first two chapters seemed a little dry to me. I will try to keep this in mind going forward, though I did find it promising that this chapter read much better than the previous two. At least, it did to me. Maybe these are just the effects of not writing for years and I have to just practice a bit more to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> How do you think Draco and Hermione will overcome their past differences and hatred for one another? I can't wait for you all to find out! 
> 
> Until next time,  
> -K.


	4. Moribus

Monday afternoon found Hermione and Ginny running behind for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, since Ginny had begged to spend their free period down at the Quidditch pitch so she could get some flying practice in. Hermione, ever the one not for flying, had instead elected to sit in the stands and do some light reading and between the two of them they had lost track of time. Now, with only minutes separating them from a tardy, they were flying down the corridors crowded with students as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Hermione!” Ginny pleaded, as she had done since they passed the Great Hall on the way up. They were winding their way through the 2nd floor corridor now, Hermione trying to plot out the fastest way to get to the fifth floor without being delayed.

“Hermione please, stop for a moment!” Ginny implored, as Hermione expertly weaved her way through the mills of people. Sighing in frustration, she finally turned to face her friend, precious seconds flying by until the clock struck one o’clock.

“Yes?” Hermione breathed impatiently, her own exertions causing her to be out of breath.

“I’m starving,” Ginny begged, “Can you just tell Professor Stone the circumstances and that I will be up in a few minutes? I’ll take the tardy, but I know you won’t.”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, “I’ll talk to her, but please make it fast! You don’t want to be too late. I’ll try to hold a seat for you.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione!” Ginny’s brightened, wheeling around at lightning speed and flying back down the corridor at lightning speed. “You’re the best! I’ll get a bite for you!”

Hermione shook her head, turning on her heel as fast as she could and pounding her own way down the corridor as fast as she could. Luckily, she managed to fly into the DADA classroom with only two minutes to spare. The moment she walked in the door she made her way directly to the front of the class to speak with Professor Stone, who nodded her amused understanding of the situation. Thankfully, Professor Stone was one of the more lenient professors that Hogwarts had seen in recent years, and she merely said that she would expect Ginny’s arrival. Satisfied, Hermione wheeled around to take her seat when she all of a sudden realized that everyone’s seating arrangements were different. There were only two seats available, one next to Theodore Nott, and the other next to Draco Malfoy.

“Ah yes, Miss Granger, I’ve nearly forgotten.” Professor Stone said, turning back to Hermione’s direction and smiling. “Today we are beginning the first unit of the inter-house partnerships. Your partner will be Mr. Nott for these next six weeks. Please take your seat next to him. Class will begin momentarily, and these will be your assigned seats for the next six weeks.”

The class let out an involuntary groan at that, the rest of the students having come in and sat down wherever their name placard was placed, per the early instructions of Professor Stone. There were a few handshakes, a few smiles, but mostly there were looks of uncertainty and distrust as the students took in who their partners were to be for the next six weeks. “I’m sorry, are those complaints I hear?” Professor Stone wheeled back around in a single, furious motion. In her anger, her Nigerian accent became more pronounced. Her eyes roved over the classroom for any signs of insubordination. “You would do well to remember that these partnerships will not be confined to this course alone. This is a school-wide effort to promote harmony between the houses—” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, “—and if anyone would like to take issue with that or their partner, please see me immediately after class so I can form a list of detentions to serve for the week. Intolerance will not be tolerated in my class.” Unsurprisingly, the room was completely silent from then on, and, satisfied, Professor Stone turned back around to continue writing on the board, preparing to begin her lesson.

Hermione steeled herself to not to give a reaction to her partner as she walked over and sat next to Theodore Nott. Calmly and collectedly, she removed her materials for the course and listened for Professor Stone to begin her lecture. Seven minutes into the lecture, Ginny came through the door as quietly and respectfully as she could, taking her seat next to Draco without surprise or complaint. Professor Stone met her humbled expression with a small smile and a nod, before continuing her lecture to the other students as Ginny unpacked her things and began taking notes.

Throughout Professor Stone’s lecture, none of the students so much as coughed. Clearly, they had all miscalculated in assuming that her easygoing personality meant leniency. Today’s lesson had revealed that the woman was clearly fierce and as strict as McGonagall. Hermione swallowed nervously. She and Ginny must have just been extremely lucky in receiving her good graces today. They would have to take care not to repeat their tardiness.

The lesson today was a repeat lesson about werewolves from fifth year, so she was less concerned about missing content than she would normally be. Still, her eyes flitted around the room when the professor had her back turned to the class to write on the board. She would just have to take care not to get caught.

The 7th years seemed to be getting along for the most part. Some Gryffindor-Slytherin partnerships were met in near total silence, with a few looks of loathing thrown in between for good measure. As usual, the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw pairings seemed to have no issue, as most of the Hufflepuff students loved company and the Ravenclaw students loved learning. They were both in their element, so most of those partners were all smiles. Hannah Abbot, Hermione noted, had been placed in their class with her. Although she was a week behind, she seemed genuinely happy to be back, although surprised at the decision to enforce inter-house partners this year.

Hermione resisted the urge to snort. She wasn’t the only one.

Her gaze flickered over to where Ginny sat with—she wrinkled her nose with distain—Draco Malfoy. He seemed to be as determined as ever to avoid interacting with anyone, and this included Ginny. It was obvious that there still seemed to be some bad blood between them. Ginny, for one, was flushed as if she were furious with him about something. Malfoy’s back was abnormally stiff from what she could tell. Just two weeks of sitting behind him were already starting to irritate her if she could so easily read his body language. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples again, feeling a headache coming on. She actually missed the days where he always sat behind she, Harry and Ron with his posse. Even if he made fun of them constantly, at least back then she didn’t have to deal with becoming infuriated all over again every time she mistakenly glanced his way.

Theodore Nott, Hermione had decided, was a wholly silent partner. By this point in the lesson several other partners had already spoken to one another and had begun working together with their notes, since it was now the allotted partner study period during the lesson. It seemed, though, that both he and Hermione preferred to keep to themselves. At the stolen glances she had been able to sneak his way, she realized that he was taking exceptionally good notes, and they were organized just as well—if not better—than hers were. Clearly, he was intelligent and studious, so at least they had that in common. It helped in some manner to know that her partner wasn’t going to just rely on her for an easy grade these next six weeks.

“Why were you late?”

The question came so suddenly and so unexpectedly, that it took Hermione a few seconds to realize that he had even asked a question. “Ex--Excuse me?” Hermione blinked, turning to the man slumped over his notes next to her. His eyes were still on his notes, his quill scribbling furiously.

“Why were you late today? It is unlike you.” He stated, his eyes still on his parchment.

Hermione blinked again, utterly confused as to why he was asking about anything even remotely close to her well-being. “I—“ she hesitated, unnerved both by a practical stranger’s query and the searching expression with which he now held her gaze. Still, she knew she had to answer something in the spirit of not mucking up this new partnership up so soon into the six weeks she’d have to spend with him.

“We were down at the quidditch pitch,” Hermione offered simply, meeting his eyes with her own in a soft, challenging stare. “We just lost track of time.”

Simply enough, Theo’s eyes flicked over her face, before he subtly nodded to himself and turned to focus his attention back on his notes. Still disbelieving his sudden conversation skills, Hermione asked: “Why?”

“Why what?” He turned back to her subtly, keeping his shoulders to the front of the room to appear as if they were still working. Professor Stone had since ended the allotted partner study period, and was back to lecturing. Although his expression was shockingly well-schoooled, she swore she could see a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he fired her own questioning responses back at her. She resisted the urge to jolt backwards in her seat, to press her back against the wooden frame for support. Was Theo Nott teasing her?

Swallowing her surprise and steeling her expression, Hermione decided to meet fire with fire: “Why are you asking about why I was late? Why do you care?” She frowned. She hadn’t meant to ask that second question, especially worded in such a way. She was trying her hardest not to be on edge and sound accusing, but her Gryffindor righteous indignation was rising up, and—

Shrugging, Theo rested his chin on folded hands, his elbows resting on their desk, as he once again kept his eyes to the front of the classroom, where Professor Stone was speaking. “Whatever gave you the impression that I didn’t?” He asked, simply.

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger found herself without answer.

The rest of the lesson was spent in resolute silence, with the two determinedly focused exclusively on their studies. When the period finally concluded after the full hour of lecture and the brief period of partner study, and Hermione found herself packing up her things in companionable silence, Theodore next to her doing the same. She was uncertain how to approach this cold, aloof Slytherin, since she had only ever known Slytherins to be combative and horribly hateful toward her. She still didn’t want to chance saying anything to anger or offend him in the spirit of their partnership, but she knew she must say something to appear welcoming. She opened and closed her mouth a few different times, fumbling for something to say, when she finally realized that he had spoken to her.

“I’m—I’m sorry?” She blinked, turning to face him again in surprise.

“Are Wednesdays at six o’clock good for you?” Nott turned to face her, his bag slung over his shoulder. His dirty blonde hair was just long enough to partially obscure his blue eyes, and while he was certainly tall enough to dwarf Hermione, she was grateful that his presence was not as ominous as some of the other Slytherins she had known over the years.

“Yes,” Hermione responded, mentally running through her study schedule. “I usually spend that time in the library to study.”

Nott nodded, holding out a hand to shake hers. “My name is Theodore Nott. Everyone that knows me calls me Theo. I don’t mind either way. Whatever you want to call me is fine.”

His manner of speech was so simple, so straightforward, and…polite. She didn’t quite know what to make of it. “Oh—okay.” Hermione nodded slowly, reaching out to shake his proffered hand. “Theo. I did know your name before, by the way.” She gave him the smallest of smiles, “They were few in number, but we did have a few classes together before. I remember you from Arithmancy sixth year. I just didn’t know much about you then.”

He shrugged. “Not many do. Anyway, if you want to meet me in the library at six o’clock on Wednesdays, we can work on our partner work for this class together. I tend to work by myself mostly, but I think we can manage.”

Hermione nodded. She still didn’t know what to expect from Theo, and she certainly was a long way from trusting him, but she was glad at least that they seemed to have a promising start to their partnership. “Well, I certainly understand that. I think we can manage, too.”

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, Hermione threw herself into her studies. It was less so avoiding the issue than she just had absolutely no idea how to react to Theo’s unexpected politeness. Slytherins being polite to her? Slytherins not hating her? Everything in her body told her to stay absolutely critically suspicious about every move he would make, and though she knew it was an irrational reaction from the war, her instinct was still to trust it. She had no choice but to watch every move he made in class and during their partner study sessions. Something about it was just so off-putting she had no idea how to process the growing discomfort she was beginning to develop around him. Though since it was only Monday and she had nothing else to do except distract herself from the chaos of her own mind, she buried herself into her school work.

  
“Hermione!” An exasperated voice loudly exclaimed, breaking Hermione out of her fourth assignment of the day she was nearing completing.

Hermione looked up, clearly annoyed. “What?” She snapped.

“Look, I know you’re a bookworm,” Ginny started, then gestured around at the bowls and students around them, “but it is dinner time. You need to eat something!” Ginny demanded. Then, leaving no room for argument and reminding Hermione entirely too much of Molly Weasley, Ginny forcibly removed Hermione’s plate from in front of her and began piling it high with items she knew Hermione would eat.

“Okay, now really--” Hermione started, genuinely affronted at the thought that Ginny was going to force her to eat. She hated being treated like a child.

“No, ‘Mione, you are going to eat this!” Ginny snapped, setting the plate in front of Hermione and her hands on her hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t eat lunch today since we were running late, and now you are refusing your dinner. You’re going to eat this entire plate, and then you’re going to tell me what is bothering you!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, then huffed. “I am not refusing my dinner, Gin! I’m just not hungry, and I’m trying to study!”

“Oh, I know you like to study,” Ginny glared, “but even you make time for other things. You made sure to attend Quidditch matches for Ron and Harry when they were here, and leave time open for all of the crazy adventures they dragged you into. And you never,” Ginny punctuated the words, “never study at meals unless it is exam time or you are stressed out about something!”

Hermione was taken aback. How dare she say something so ridiculous--! Though now that she thought about it…

Curses. Ginny was completely right.

Angrily, she snapped her book shut and stuffed it in her bag, before wrenching her spoon and fork from the napkin beside her and beginning to eat. Next to her, Ginny adopted a facial expression that reminded her greatly of every time Crookshanks would manage to weasel her out of some milk. Pleased, self-congratulatory, and as mischievous as the Weasley twins ever were with Peeves.

Thankfully Ginny at least sat in silence while Hermione continued to eat. By the time she was nearly finished, Hermione realized they were one of the last ones in the Great Hall. While Ginny occupied herself with a book (‘Hypocrite,’ Hermione sneered, even though she knew Ginny had already eaten), Hermione allowed her eyes to rove over the remainder of the occupants of the Great Hall. There were a few fifth year Hufflepuffs gathered around at their table, laughing jovially while teasing what appeared to be one of their friends. At the Ravenclaw table, there were two Ravenclaws, each sitting completely by themselves at different ends of the table. One looked like a third year, the other a 7th year. Both were studying. ‘I should have let the Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw,’ Hermione snorted, taking another bite of her mashed potatoes into her mouth. ‘At least I wouldn’t be judged for studying during meals at their table.’ A quick glance over at the Slytherin table revealed it to be nearly completely empty as well. There was a single, solitary first year still eating, though it appeared that they had begun to pack up their things to leave. Down their own table of Gryffindors, there were a couple of groups of students laughing and tossing dessert cakes at one another, though it was evident that they were very nearly finished themselves and just waiting for someone to declare they were returning to the common room.

Now finished, Hermione bid Ginny to leave. As they gathered their things, the other Gryffindors seemed to have finally decided to do the same. They exited the Great Hall as one large crowd, chatting animatedly with one another while Ginny joined in on their Quidditch conversation. This left Hermione to hang back slightly, relieved to get some distance between herself and her demanding friend. She knew Ginny wouldn’t let it go, and when they got back to Gryffindor tower, she would continue to press until she found out what was bothering her. Hermione had only a few minutes to craft a worthy tale to lead her friend astray. She was determined not to get any Gryffindors involved with her involvement with the Slytherins this year. It would only start unnecessary fights, and Hermione knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could handle it on her own, if only given time to figure things out--

Then, just as they were about to pass through the Great Hall’s large oak doors, Draco bleeding Malfoy walked in.

It was evident that he was trying to sneak some food at the very last minute before the hall closed to avoid the crowd. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than ever, and his cheeks were sallow, sunken. His robes were off and slung over his shoulder, leaving him only in a tailored long sleeve button-down top with some black denim pants. True to his post-war nature, the shirt was also a dark color--black as well to be exact--but as soon as he walked in it was clear luck was not on his side tonight.

“Malfoy!” A burly 7th year Gryffindor laughed, mocking his late entry into the hall. “Thought you were rich enough to afford a watch? The Hall closes in like two minutes.”

Like he had been doing since the start of the year, Malfoy set his jaw--Hermione could see the twitch from the effort--and continued walking. He betrayed nothing in his expression or in his walk, he merely kept his eyes forward and his feet moving, but this invited nothing but trouble from the large Gryffindor that targeted him.

“Oi! I’m talking to you, you slimy piece of--” He began, rounding around to charge in Malfoy’s direction. Some of the other Gryffindors laughed, including Ginny, although she looked more uncertain than some of the others did. They were big, they were popular, and they were purely enjoying it.

When Malfoy continued to ignore them and the Gryffindors continued baiting him, Hermione knew she had to make a decision. Even though she didn’t want to get involved, even though they were doing to Malfoy exactly what he had done to her for years, and even though she knew that he was still the single biggest prat to ever walk the Earth, she knew that she couldn’t allow this to continue.

“Mason!” She drew her wand and placed herself between the large Gryffindor boy and Malfoy, who stood in the background stacking food onto a large napkin as rapidly as he could without seeming desperate to get away. “Clear out and go back to the common room.” She raised her chin up at the much larger boy, defiantly.

“Whatchu mean, Hermione?” His brows furrowed, looking between her and Malfoy in obvious confusion. “I thought you hated him?”

“Nothing gives you an excuse to hound him like that,” She said firmly, avoiding his accusation entirely. She took several insistent steps forward, so that Mason and the other Gryffindors would be forced to continue stepping backwards and out of the Great Hall. Soon enough, they were in the hallway, and the other Gryffindors were very unhappy.

“Blimey, what’s your problem, Hermione?” Some of the girls fumed, while the guys stared dumbly at their own house’s princess ordering them to stop messing with a Slytherin. It just wasn’t done.

“If you treat him like that, what stops them from treating us and everyone else like that?” She asked, her eyes narrowed and wand still at the ready. Everyone went silent. No one seemed to have an adequate answer for her.

“We have to be better than this,” Hermione stated, beginning to stow her wand. “You know treating somebody--anybody like that isn’t right. Go back to the common room, and make sure you tell the others not to behave in the same way. McGonagall said that the only way to move forward is to erase this prejudice and it starts with the houses. I believe in that. I think you should, too.” She took a deep breath, then said firmly, “Don’t let me see you or anyone else doing that ever again. Go tell the others, especially the younger ones, what I just told you. I’ll be in shortly.”

They all gave her curious looks, some mixed with betrayal, before they turned and headed back to the common room. At the time, Hermione didn’t realize the implications of what she had just said, but now it hit her full force and she groaned, loudly. She wasn’t hanging back to speak with Malfoy, she merely didn’t want to walk the long way back to the common room listening to their objections to her actions. It was bad enough listening to it as she had in the moments that she had stood up for him.

Why did she do that, anyway? Hermione stood stock-still in the hallway and frowned, drifting off and staring ahead at nothing in particular. She would need to consider it more, but...she knew. She just knew. As she always had, she had trusted her sense of right and wrong and did what she considered the right thing to do. Was Malfoy deserving of it? Absolutely not. She truly did believe in what McGonagall was trying to do, though, and she knew that she would be no better than the Slytherins that used to pick on her if she had allowed it to continue without interruption.

When Hermione finally did become aware of movement in front of her, she just briefly saw a flash of the blonde-haired form of Draco Malfoy exiting the Great Hall, slinking past as quietly and quickly as possible before he darted out of sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> I apologize for the delayed update. I had had this chapter nearly ready to post, but while I was preparing to finish it up last week my webcam was hacked. In the end, my laptop was completely out of commission there for a while, and I have only recently had it returned to me. I have been working on the next couple of chapters via Google docs, so this should not continue to be an issue. 
> 
> Please let me know how you all think the story is going. I love and appreciate the responses to the story so far--you are all keeping me going! I can't wait to show you where this is all going...even though this feels slow, it feels like I'm revealing all too fast on my end. Hopefully it doesn't feel that way for you! 
> 
> -K.


	5. Et Flevit

The following morning was a quiet breakfast surrounding Hermione at the Gryffindor table. She didn’t much care for her fellow students and their prejudiced attitudes at this point, though, so it didn’t bother her in the least. She had Ginny and Neville next to her, and that was enough for her.    
  
When she had returned back to the common room last night, she was met with total silence. It wasn’t like the silence Harry had been met with after the Goblet spat his name out in fourth year--that was a silence of utter betrayal. This silence, while still not good, felt spurned. Everyone felt that she had gone against her house allegiance. Good. Last night had been an excellent time for them to have a conversation as a house. Even though Hermione hated her fame, this was the first instance so far wherein she felt actually glad for it. People listened to her, people respected her. It was a wonderful tool to have, and now it would be a tool for her to use for good. If her housemates would listen to anyone, it would be her, she hoped. And listen they had. Not all of them liked what she had to say, but the important thing was that the little ones held on to every word she said, utterly captivated. She hoped that if it doesn’t turn into progress right away, that it would at least do so long after she and the older students had left.    
  
It was still a bit uncomfortable, so everyone was silent around her at breakfast, that was all. Ginny, she could tell, felt a little embarrassed that Hermione had chosen to act the way she had, but Hermione stood by it. Hermione knew that above all else, Ginny would choose to stand by her friend. And so she did, albeit silently.    
  
All too soon it was time for mail deliveries. Never before had Hermione been so excited for the post, since in years previous she had had her best friends sitting beside her every day at every meal. She had been looking forward to Harry’s letter since last week, but it had yet to arrive. She barely could resist the urge to bounce up and down in her seat.    
  
Yes! Today was the day. She could see Harry’s new tawny owl flying toward her. She had never been so happy to see an owl in her life. The owl--named Gwendyrie, per Ginny’s order--landed smoothly in front of Hermione, a parcel and a small package tied to her feet. Hermione thanked the owl in earnest, and seeing that the package was meant for Ginny, passed it along to her. Ginny’s eyes lit up, and it didn’t escape Hermione’s notice. She smiled. She would have to ask her about it later, although she knew Harry well enough that she had a pretty good idea of what was going on.    
  
With the post delivery over and the owls flying up out of the Great Hall like they did every day, Hermione frowned. Where was Ron’s letter? She knew he hadn’t officially promised to send one, but maybe his owl had been delayed. She knew it was unlikely, as if he had written one he probably would have sent it with Harry’s owl, and she succumbed to the sinking feeling she had in her heart. Even though they had decided he needed some space, Hermione knew she still had feelings for him and hoped that they would be able to continue with what they had at some point. She shook her head, and began opening Harry’s letter, putting thoughts of Ron out of her mind. She wouldn’t worry about it now. 

 

_ Hermione,  _

 

_ How are you doing? It has been ages since I last saw you. It’s so strange to have you _

_ away. I miss you, of course. Ron and I have both been so involved in our training that we have barely had time to sleep, let alone write. This week they have us camping in Bulgaria. They are wanting us to train with Bilge Snipes...yes, you read that correctly! I had always thought that they were imaginary. Well, I suppose growing up in muggle schools, we would tend to think these things are imaginary. Although it’s a bit embarrassing, I’ll admit that I sometimes feel like Thor when I fight with them, although Ron of course can’t understand the comparison.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Ginny has written since school started. I know you were disappointed when we told

_ you that we could only write you on a limited basis, but don’t forget that that doesn’t  _

_ include you sending letters to us! I’m always happy to hear from you. Gin writes  _

_ that Hogwarts is very different than the one we attended. Is that true? I can’t imagine McGonagall running it any differently than Dumbledore. While she was always a strong and outspoken, she was devoted to him. Tell me, are the walls now pink? Has she replaced all of the house decorations with portraits of you? You always were her favorite, you know. On second thought, please don’t tell me if they are our portraits. I think if that’s the case I’d rather not know.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Since I know you’ll ask--Ron is...Ron is doing okay, but he is very distant. I can tell he is 

_ not quite himself, though I know you already can understand why. I can feel it in Ginny’s  _

_ letters, too. I don’t mean to worry you, but I’ve been trying to convince him to take some  _

_ time off. He always refuses, but I do think it would be best for him. He has also told me that he has no interest in writing to you at present, but please don’t take that the wrong way. I think he just needs time. And Hermione….please keep this between the two of us. I know you understand.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Harry

  
  
  


Hermione sat in shock, still holding Harry’s letter in her hand. Ron...Ron didn’t want to write to her? Surely she hadn’t read that correctly?    
  
A quick re-read confirmed that the words she thought she had read were indeed on the page before her, and she couldn’t quite help the tears that began to flow from her eyes. She quickly gathered her things in her arms, not quite caring whether they were entirely in her bag. As long as they were transportable, half in the bag and half out, she didn’t care. Her legs carried her out of the Great Hall at an alarming rate of speed, drawing the attention of half of the student body, but she didn’t care. She had spent the last several weeks waiting anxiously for news from the boy she loved, but...   
  
Ron...Ron didn’t want to speak with her. He didn’t want her.    
  
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she burst her way out of the castle doors, heading down to sit by the Black Lake alone. The cold autumn air stung her skin where the hot tears ran down her face, but she didn’t care. She was running now at full rate of speed, her robes billowing behind her and loose papers flying from her satchel only to be blown away in the breeze. Finally, she got to her desired spot by the lake, a soft grassy knoll she had occupied to study for the greater part of her warmer seasons here. There, she re-read the letter multiple times and furiously tried to come up with a reason as to why he would abandon her like this. Everything between them had been going so well. They had been so close to one another, they had kissed the day of the final battle--

Deep down, she knew that day had changed everything. With that kiss, they had declared whatever unspoken feelings they had for one another, she knew, but that was before they saw the aftermath. Before they saw the fractured families, before they picked up the pieces, before they realized the emotional and physical damage that had been left behind. Hermione wondered what part of him had broken so fundamentally that he had even cast her aside, someone she thought he had loved for the greater part of four years, though deep down she knew. She knew.    
  
Yes, Ron was the biggest ass she had ever met. Yes, he had done so many horrible things to disappoint, alienate, and hurt her. But she had forgiven him for every one, and returned only love to him. Was he now to throw her away? And above all else, would their friendship remain after whatever occurred between them was all said and done? Losing Ron’s affection she could handle, but losing one of her best friends forever was not something she thought she could ever survive. Raking her hands through her now tangled hair, an eighteen year old Hermione sobbed until her throat was raw, wishing not for the first time that the war had never happened.    


 

* * *

“Hermione! I need to talk to you.” Ginny gasped as she struggled to keep up with Hermione’s harried pace. She was a rapid walker, having developed the habit over the many years she had spent hurrying from class to class in the large castle. Fifteen minutes to go between classes from one end of the castle to another was hardly enough, but it never failed to keep the students on task and moving rather quickly through the hallways day to day. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked Ginny, genuinely concerned. The overcast skies from the castle’s windows reflected against the stone walls of the hallway they were passing by in a cool light. Her gaze shifted slightly to Ginny’s side, as she continued walking. Although she wanted to, she couldn’t look directly at her, Hermione’s attention focused on where her feet fell in step among the dozens of others in the crowded hallway.    
  
Ginny hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened the other night…” 

Hermione frowned. “What are you talking about?”    
  
Ginny started uneasily: “When I came into the room the other night, you were asleep. It was only half past seven, and everyone else was downstairs studying and getting ready for the evening. I knew you would never miss an opportunity to claim your usual spot at the tables to work on your essays, but you were asleep on your bed...and…” Ginny cleared her throat, “You had been crying. There were tear tracks on your cheeks, and your mascara had run just a little bit. I didn’t know you still wore it.” Ginny let a small grin escape.    
  
“It was a gift.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I wear it only occasionally. And as for what you saw, I was just stressed out from exams coming up, and--”    
  
“Oh no you don’t!” Ginny sternly warned, stepping in front of Hermione and holding her arm out to stop Hermione with her arm. Hermione walked directly into Ginny’s outstretched hand, halting her in her steps. “You’re not going to just brush it off this time.” She crossed her arms and Hermione had to fight the urge despite everything to smile. Molly’s stubbornness was there, reflected directly in front of her own eyes. 

  
“Look, Ginny,” Hermione started, her own stubbornness causing her mouth to set into a firm line. She reached up and moved the strap of her bag where it fell over her shoulder, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She pushed past Ginny, starting again on her way to her next class. It wasn’t much farther, but Ginny didn’t share it with her. She was becoming increasingly desperate to put some distance between she and Ginny. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the fire-haired girl’s youngest brother with her.    
  
“I know it’s about Ron!” Ginny called after her, frustration only second to the pain in her tone. The words made Hermione freeze in her tracks, and she resisted the urge to press a hand to her forehead. Of course Harry would have said something to her in his letter. He was using Ginny to keep them updated with how Hermione was doing, after all. “So was the whole ‘I saw you crying’ story a lie then?” Hermione asked, turning back toward her friend skeptically. She saw Ginny shrink a bit with guilt, but only a little before returned to the height she was attempting to intimidate Hermione with. It wasn’t working. “Not a total lie, no.” Ginny said, shrugging. “You didn’t have mascara dried on your face, but I could tell you had been upset. I just wanted you to admit to wearing mascara.” Ginny grinned mischievously. “I just won 3 galleons on a bet!”    
  
“Ugh!” Hermione made a noise of disgust before turning rapidly away from Ginny and hurrying forward.    
  
“Fine!” Ginny called after her, openly laughing after her while her image rapidly became swallowed by a sea of black-cloaked students passing by. “We will discuss this later!”    


 

* * *

 

Ginny, to Hermione’s chagrin, managed to catch up with her as she studied at her usual study spot by the Black Lake later that evening. The grassy knoll had always been a welcoming place for her after a long day of classwork, and a peaceful one for studying. It was far enough away from the courtyard that much of the noise of the student body had been stifled, though it was never enough to stifle the incoming noise of her chatty redheaded friend.    
  
“Hermione! There you are!” Ginny shouted, both amused and delighted, before plopping down directly next to her friend. Hermione sighed and began packing up her things, knowing that her study time had now been well and truly interrupted, before turning to Ginny. “Let’s get on with it.” Hermione sighed, but fixed her gaze on Ginny’s with a challenge in her eyes nonetheless. “What did Harry say to you?”   
  
“No way.” Ginny sobered immediately. “You tell me what is wrong first.”    
  
Hermione snorted, “So he didn’t tell you much then. If he had you would have come right out with it.”    
  
“So something  _ did  _ happen with you and Ron.” Ginny smirked, acting just as self-righteous as Hermione had been in that moment. “You wouldn’t be acting so smug, defensively nitpicking at my words if it hadn’t.”    
  
Hermione glared at Ginny, knowing she had been caught. She turned her head to look out over the Black Lake, for the first time this year taking it all in. While she had been down here for the first time the other night to cry, she was too caught in her emotions to really enjoy the view. The sunlight was reflecting the light and the clouds over the water, the ripples the fish were making causing the clouds to wave on the surface. Near the bank, the tall grass was swaying in the gentle breeze, tickling her bare feet. A tiny smile escaped her, despite herself, and as she wrinkled her nose at the feeling, she directed her magic into her hand. Raising her hand, she pushed her magic into her fingers, practicing something she had been working on, and wordlessly and wandlessly called a nearby skipping rock into her hand. Unsurprisingly, it lifted itself from the bank next to her, and zoomed into her outstretched hand. The action caused Ginny to fumble in the angry lecture Hermione had been ignoring until this point. “Was--was that wandless magic?” Ginny gaped, staring at Hermione’s hand.    
  
“I’ve been practicing.” Hermione shrugged simply, drawing her arm back to skip the rock along the water’s surface. Harry and Ron had taught her how to during their second year.    
  
“R--Right.” Ginny’s shock dissipated, shaking her head. She amusedly muttered a nearly inaudible “Of course Hermione bloody Granger is teaching herself to cast wandless magic.” She giggled, then forced herself to become serious again.    
  
“Alright Hermione, I won’t tell anyone about your studies,” Ginny smirked, “But you’ve got to tell me about what happened with Ron. I’m worried, and so is Harry. He mentioned in his letter that there is some discord between you two, but I’m not sure exactly what. What happened?”    
  
Hermione hesitated. Her hands reached out beside her to grip something, anything that she could get her hands on. Her fists clenched around the grass beside her, the sudden stress causing the blades to be torn apart at the middle. She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words, so she instead threw the blades of grass she had fisted in her hands into the lake, then removed Harry’s letter from her bag. She knew he would not be angry if Ginny read it, so she handed it over gingerly to her friend. She watched as Ginny’s eyes scanned down the page, and could see the flicker of the flame of her anger about his mention of Ron’s lack of correspondence.    
  
_ “He has no interest in writing to you at present?”  _ Ginny screeched, her hands flying into the air, the letter bending against her fist with the force of her movement. “Who in the bloody hell does he think he is?! I’m going to murder that no-good--” Ginny fumed, the fire in her eyes growing as she turned back to Hermione. By now the sun was approaching sunset, causing the sky to turn a faint orange glow. Whether she knew it or not, Ginny always seemed a little bit more threatening when the sunset caught in her vivid red hair like that. Hermione thought to herself, albeit quietly, that she would have hated to be Ron in that moment. His sister looked downright terrifying.    


“I’m going to write to him.” Ginny seethed, throwing her body back against the grassy knoll to stare up at the sky, her fists clenching her fingers tightly into her side from her anger. “I’m going to write to him, then I’m going to kill him.” She closed her eyes and forced a strong breath out of her nose, the tension from her shoulders falling only minutely.    
  
“I--” Hermione started uneasily, speaking for the first time. She licked her lips, discovering that they had become unexpectedly dry while she watched Ginny read over the letter. She glanced up at the sky as well, noticing that the evening stars were now starting to become visible as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon. She wondered where Ron was now and whether he was thinking of her, and tears filled her eyes as the pain in her heart once again ripped her chest open. Hermione gave a sob of pure emotion and frustration, then threw herself down parallel to where Ginny lay, both girls staring up at the sky. For a while, neither said anything while Hermione began to cry as quietly as she could. After a minute or two, Ginny reached out and clasped her hand in Hermione’s without saying anything. They laid together for several minutes, neither one saying anything while Hermione cried, until they knew they had to get up and head toward the school’s entrance before they were locked out for the night. 

They had nearly made it back up the hillside when Ginny finally spoke, interrupting the long silence that had taken over while Hermione wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Ron is such a bloody prat.”    
  
Hermione scoffed, the sound of her sniffles echoing around the deserted hillside around them. “He certainly can be.”    
  
“No.” Ginny started, her tone deadly serious. “I mean he really is. He is being selfish, thinking only of himself. I mean, I knew he could be but this really, really takes the cake.” Ginny frowned. “Over all of the past few years, we couldn’t shut him up about you! Over the summers when you and Harry weren’t there, we would tease him relentlessly. The summer of fifth year all he could ask about was you and Harry--but especially you. I thought mum was going to kill him by the third week. How did he go from that, to not wanting to speak to you this year?”    
  
“I’m--I’m not sure.” Hermione bit her lip, trying to keep it from wobbling with her rising emotion. She lowered her head, determined not to cry but also determined not to let Ginny see her so unsure of herself. She had long suspected, but she wasn’t sure… “Maybe...Maybe it was our kiss.” Hermione offered, albeit barely audibly.    
  
Ginny stopped in her tracks, then spun Hermione to face her. “You and Ron...kissed?” Ginny asked, fighting a slow smile spreading over her face. “Hermione, this is great! Don’t you get it!” Ginny squealed, spinning Hermione around with a strong, boisterous laugh. “He loves you!”    
  
Hermione blinked, her despair not lifting. “I don’t understand, Gin.”    
  
She set Hermione down and stepped back. She beamed from ear to ear, her grin a beacon in the dark surrounding the grounds. “He loves you, Hermione!”    
  
“How in the world are you getting that, Gin?” Hermione deadpanned. “We read the same letter, didn’t we? I didn’t get them accidentally switched, did I?” She moved to check her bag, just to be sure, but Ginny grabbed her hands to stop her.    
  
“No, ‘Mione, no!” Ginny laughed, bringing her around to bring them face to face again. “He’s a guy, and he’s been so weird about you all of this time. He’s just acting weird! I think you both kissed and he’s embarrassed but now he doesn’t know how to act. I am going to write him--Oh, I’m still gonna kill him for hurting you with his idiotic actions--but I’m going to write to him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything this stupid again!” Ginny beamed, patting her friend’s hands. Then, she threw an arm around her shoulders, guiding Hermione once again toward the great doors of the school. “Everything’s going to be alright, Hermione. You wait and see!”    
  
Although she wanted to believe, Hermione couldn’t force the small smile she knew Ginny was waiting for her to return. Everything inside of her rejected the hope Ginny was trying to offer her, knowing that things were not, in fact, as good as Ginny was saying that they were. She had seen the things Ginny hadn’t--the quiet mornings in the weeks following the war, the wordless meals, the tension following them around every morning since the final battle. And she knew these things had all culminated into the cold look in Ron’s eyes as he bid her farewell the day before she left for Hogwarts. 

 

As they settled in for the night, each of the girls climbing into their bed covers, all Hermione could think about was the space that Ron had asked for the night of the final battle, what that meant for them, and whether or not she would ever see even the coldness of his gaze fixed upon her again. 

 

And so she cried herself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

  
_ One heartbeat.  _ __   
__   
_ Two heartbeats.  _ __   
__   
_ Three.  _ __   
__   
__ Icy cold water took the breath from her lungs, as she was all of a sudden thrown in to an open pond. An involuntary gasp shuddered through her body, her eyes rocketing open with shock. The gasp drew in a full breath of water into each lung, and she immediately began to struggle to breathe beneath the surface. Her hair swayed around her, looking reddish in the dark blue water. Above her head, she could see the surface, the water above the depths a lighter blue. She struggled for several moments to swim to the surface, but she had already begun to lose consciousness. Reaching for her wand, she discovered it was not there, but floating down into the depths below her. She screamed and clutched at her throat, trying desperately to pump her diminishing magic from her core into it, a desperate attempt to push oxygen into her lungs although she knew it was futile. As she felt her eyes closing and the deep slumber of death taking over her limp body, a cool, bony hand clutched around her throat, a shudder running through her otherwise responsive body. The dementor moved around her side and hovered in front of her in the water, leaning in for a kiss…   
  
Hermione screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all. 
> 
> I have had this chapter finished for a while, but I have held onto it. I decided it was necessary to have a development chapter for Hermione at this point, and while I knew I would soon have to deal with the Ron conflict, I didn't know if revealing it so early would be good for the story. If you feel it out of place, good. It is meant to be jarring, shocking, and upsetting on a confusing level because I also want to illustrate how jumbled her emotions are at this point. When you have an emotional response to trauma, the emotions are often either non-existent or they all fly at you at once. I foresee a lot of this going back and forth emotionally in this story both because it is so vitally important to illustrate it for the sake of character development, and because it is true to my own experience. At any given moment a dear friend can become an enemy and vice versa when your emotions and trauma-addled brain are so confused, and it takes time to sort through. 
> 
> The Ron thing is going to become complicated. I am aware of some criticism I have received in choosing to make Ron duck out like this, and I'll admit it is a reason I decided to hold off on posting this chapter. I needed more time to make my final deliberations. I have finally decided, however, that it is worth the risk. To my knowledge, it hasn't been done before. It is a fresh and I feel realistic portrayal of what could happen after major trauma/war. Bear with me. It will make sense in the end. 
> 
> Thanks for your continuing support. Please continue sending me messages, reviews, comments, etc. You help keep me going! :) Chapter 6 is already over halfway written and I am very pleased with the direction the story is going. I hope you all continue to enjoy, and I love reading your comments/reactions to the material! ;)
> 
> -K.


	6. Disputationem

Terrified, Hermione bolted upright in bed. She was drenched in a cold sweat, shaking, and her breathing was ragged and uneven. Closing her eyes in an attempt to calm down, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her bed curtain being ripped open.   
  
“Hermione!” Ginny yelled a bit louder than necessary, gathering her friend in her arms as she turned to sit on her bed. “Are you okay?”   
  
“I’m fine.” Hermione managed evenly, despite how she felt in that moment.   
  
“Merlin, you’re burning up.” Ginny pointed her wand at Hermione’s forehead and began muttering some basic mediwitch spells that her mother had no doubt taught her. After revealing that her symptoms weren’t cause of a fever or infection, Ginny frowned. “You screamed. Gave us all a right bloody fright. Are you okay?”   
  
For the first time, Hermione noticed that the rest of her roommates were gathered around her bed, also concerned. Poor Loretta appeared scared out of her mind, her complexion pale as death, even with the help of the weak light of the quarter moon shining in from outside.   
  
“I’m fine, I’m so sorry.” Hermione apologized. “I had a nightmare. I’m so sorry to have worried you all. She eyed her deathly pale roommate, “Especially you, Loretta. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”   
  
“I was actually up using the bathroom,” Loretta meekly offered, looking sheepish. “When I heard you scream, I thought someone was attacking us and I was without a wand. Looks like it’s coming with me next time!” She gave a weak chuckle, and Faye actually managed to laugh.  
  
“Right, well, we’ve had enough excitement for the night--morning,” she corrected amusedly, glancing at the enchanted clock on her bedside table. “It’s 3am. Let’s all head back to bed.”   
  
Ginny glanced at Hermione, who still was sitting up in her bed clutching her chest, and quietly mouthed, “Are you okay?” Hermione nodded back, urging her to go on with the others. Neither one of them wanted to draw the attention of the other girls. With a discerning look, Ginny gave her an eagle-eyed once over before nodding and removing herself from Hermione’s side. She padded quietly back over to her own bed, before she drew back the curtain and laid down to sleep. Hermione reached over to close her own curtain, then put her head in her hands. She needed something to calm down. Under her pillow, she withdrew one of the books she had been working on from under her pillow--a new book she had borrowed about a very specific strain of poisonous plants. She drew her wand and cast a quiet “lumos” before settling in to read. Not long after, the silvery wisps of a small horse cantered through the curtain to stand above her knees, prancing and galloping with more energy than Hermione possessed in that moment. She genuinely smiled. Ginny had sent a patronus to her to comfort her. She had respected her right to privacy with the other girls, but knew she couldn’t talk to her in the moment. Hermione reached a hand out to touch the top of the horse’s head, and it whipped its mane against her fingers before it disappeared into nothingness. The action deeply touched Hermione, and she knew she would have to do something to thank Ginny later for her concern.

She didn’t get the chance, regrettably, since the late start to her morning and her nightmares accompanied stress and tears about Ron. Since Ginny knew what was going on, she easily made excuses to the other girls, and they made their way down to breakfast with waves and cheery smiles. Only Ginny stayed behind with Hermione, concern etched on her face.   
  
“Are you coming to breakfast?” Ginny gently asked. For once she didn’t make demands, didn’t force her to try to eat. She understood she was upset and was trying to give her space. Hermione appreciated it more than she could say. “I’m...fine.” Hermione eventually supplied, deciding it would be wiser to say nothing else.   
  
Ginny walked over to her bed and sat, taking Hermione’s hand and pulling her into a seat next to her. For several moments, they didn’t anything until finally Ginny broke the silence. “Did you get any sleep?” She asked gently, her gaze probing Hermione’s for an honest answer. “I did,” Hermione nodded back. “I’m sorry to have awakened you.”   
  
“You’re having nightmares.” Ginny nodded slowly. “Are they what I think they are?” Her fixed gaze was pointed, daring Hermione to lie to her. As much as Hermione didn’t want eyes on her or her problem, she knew Ginny would find out one way or another since they slept in the same room together. It may help to have a friend on the inside to deflect attention from the others more easily. Hermione gave a very slight nod, her staying locked onto Ginny’s.   
  
“They’re of the war.” Hermione shuddered. “They feel so vivid. For the first time in a long time I feel like I’m back in the war...it’s the same feelings...the same images. I can’t help it.” Her eyes glazed over, a faraway look taking over. Ginny snapped her fingers, bringing her out of it. “Oh no you don’t!” Ginny smiled despite herself. “You’re not getting out of this conversation.” Her smile fell after only a moment. “Do you have nightmares about anything in particular? Do you need to talk to someone?”   
  
“-No.” Hermione cut her off, firmly. “No. No one else.”   
  
“Hermione-” Ginny started, stubbornly.

  
“No!” Hermione declared, suddenly moving to stand from the bed. “I mean it, Gin, no one else can know about this.” Her heart started racing at the thought, her head becoming dizzy with the anxiety of it. “And if you tell anyone I will never speak to you again, I mean it!” She was wringing her hands nervously, noticing they had become hot and sweaty all of a sudden. Her breathing had picked up as well, coming out in short, unmeasured gasps. What was wrong with her?   
  
“Al-alright.” Ginny nodded slowly, a strange look overcoming her face. Her expression slumped and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she let it go. Still,  Hermione knew it was far from the end of it. “What do you see?” Ginny asked again, careful to avoid the subject of getting any help.   
  
“Various things.” Hermione frowned, then drew her bottom lip between her teeth and began chewing on it. It was strange that she wasn’t having such strong emotions thinking about the nightmares after the fact, even if they did produce a certain amount of dread and anxiety in her stomach. Given their intensity, she was afraid to speak of them, but now that she was it was almost as if she was discussing the plot of one of the books she had read this week. “Sometimes they are dementors. Sometimes it is Bellatrix Lestrange.” She shuddered at that particularly horrible memory, opting not to go into detail. “Sometimes it is Voldemort’s eyes burning directly in front of me.”   
  
Ginny gasped. “That’s horrible, Hermione! How long has this been going on?” At this new information, even she seemed horrified and scared.   
  
“Several months.” Hermione bitterly confirmed, wrapping her arms around herself. But I try not to think about it. Sometimes I use Sleeping Draught when it gets especially bad and I haven’t slept for a week, but most of the time everything is normal. Especially when I have other things on my mind that can occupy me.”   
  
“As a...distraction?” Ginny’s eyebrows furrowed, her mouth twisting into a frown. She shook her head and reached for Hermione’s hand, taking it in hers. “No, ‘Mione, you need help. _Real_ help! I’m not even a doctor and I can see that this is really, really unhealthy for you. Please let me at least tell Harry.” Ginny pleaded, her glistening eyes boring into Hermione’s. “We’ve already lost so much. None of us could bear it if we lost you, too.”   
  
Hermione scoffed. “You’re hardly going to lose me, Ginny. It’s just some nightmares. I’ll be fine. I have other things to think about right now, and so do you.”   
  
Ginny glared, wiping her tears away forcefully with the back of her sleeve. “Oh? And what is oh so important for the great Hermione Granger to worry about then, if not her own health and safety and the concern of her friends and family?” Ginny demanded, not at all trying to hide the fury and worry emanating from her.   
  
Hermione ignored the pain that tore through her at the mention of her family, and chose to say nothing about it. Instead, she let her heartache come out for the first time this morning, voicing the strong doubts that had been at the forefront of her mind ever since she and Ginny’s conversation the night before. “I don’t think he loves me, Gin.”   
  
Ginny’s eyes softened, and she let out a long sigh. She leaned her arms back onto the bed and tossed her head back to look up at the maroon canopy of her bed. Her long, fiery hair hung suspended in the hair below her head, and she took in a long, steadying breath before she spoke. “He _does_ , Hermione.” Ginny said fiercely. She sat up quickly, then with a spring off the bed she leaned forward and gathered Hermione into her arms, hugging her tight. “He _does_ . Just wait and see. He’ll come back to you.” Ginny released her tight hold and eased back, patting Hermione’s knee. “Why do you doubt that he will?”   
  
“Because he’s a selfish prat.” Hermione angrily snapped, tears filling her eyes. “And he doesn’t know how to control his own emotions, and…” She wasn’t thinking anymore, she was just rambling. Ginny let her take whatever time she needed, sitting next to her in silence. It was so nice to finally have a female friend, Hermione thought absentmindedly. While she loved Harry and Ron both very much, neither had been very good at handling emotional issues or listening to her problems. Ginny knew how to be supportive, and she was so grateful for it.

They both sat on the bed for several more minutes in silence, just thinking. Ginny’s presence lended Hermione more strength and support than she ever dare admit. Ginny finally noticed that the clock read ten minutes to eight, signalling the start of classes. She hopped off the bed and pulled Hermione with her, still holding her hand. “We need to get going.” Ginny offered Hermione a smile. “You have potions soon and I need to get to Charms.” 

 

* * *

 

The day went by abnormally slowly, but Wednesdays always were like that for her. Hermione’s schedule was filled to the brim of her most difficult classes on Wednesdays, and she often ended up impatient for the day to end so that she may study.

  
Nearly Headless Nick lifted his head in greeting as she past him in the 3rd floor corridor, and Hermione turned to him in kind and greeted him warmly. She was so glad that the school ghosts had chosen to stay. They truly had truly shown their allegiance to the school over the years, including staying during the final battle last year. Not to mention when Nick was petrified during second year because of the Basilisk. It was so good to see him around.   
  
She checked her watch. It was 6:15pm on the dot, and Hermione gave a tiny smile. She was nothing if not punctual. She was meeting Theo for their first study session in the library in 15 minutes, so she had ducked out of the Great Hall’s evening meal early to get a good spot. She knew from walking past him over the years he preferred to sit at an obscure table on the second floor, hidden between the bookshelves. After seeing that that table was full of some giggling Hufflepuff students, she made her way over to the opposite side, where her favorite tables were. Smiling when she saw one available, she made her way over and claimed it. It was near the balcony as well, so when Theo entered she should be able to easily see her and come up. She unpacked her things with skill, having developed a rapid speed over the many years she had come to study, and settled in with one of her Defense Against the Dark Arts supplemental reading texts for the essay they would be working on. It was entitled: “Chaos Energy and Practical Defense: An Examination of Shield Magic and the Dark Arts.” Thus far it had been a fascinating read, and Hermione fell into it rapidly, the world disappearing around her.

It didn’t take very long before she was startled out of her reading by the sound of a chair being drawn backward and heavy books thudding onto the table in front of her. She schooled her expression into a small, professional smile before looking up to greet Theo, but to her great surprise the eyes of Draco Malfoy met hers.   
  
“What are you doing here?” She choked out, barely managing to control her reaction. Inwardly, she winced at how accusatory it sounded. In her surprise she had accidentally used an offended tone, and she wasn’t proud of it.   
  
“That’s a good question.” Malfoy bit back, turning his head to glare at Theo, who was standing next to him. “What _am_ I doing here?” Malfoy, for what it was worth, was immensely displeased at being here. Hermione didn’t know if that comforted her or made her feel even more uneasy.   
  
“Draco has some studying to do,” Theo stated evenly. “I didn’t think you would mind.” Theo gave her a small, kind smile. He swung his leg over the chair, setting his bag on top of the table in front of him as he moved to sit. Every bit the pureblood gentleman he was, he sat straight in his chair, inched it forward, and began to unpack his materials neatly and efficiently. It was almost mesmerizing to watch the routine, Hermione noticed, even if the entire thing unnerved her. She was also irritated by how easy he made even such a simple gesture look, her Gryffindor indignation rising up. ‘Old habits die hard,’ she thought to herself, as she wondered not for the first time if this was some ploy on Theo’s part to make fun of her.   
  
Her doubts were soon answered, though as Malfoy interrupted “I’m perfectly capable of studying on my own--” and Theo pressed on with his explanation: “and he cannot sit in our dorm all day and night hiding away.”   
  
“Oh.” Hermione said flatly. Her response was simple, she knew, but she didn’t quite know what to make of the two Slytherins before her acting like...well, she wasn’t certain what they were acting like. The only thing she knew for certain was that Theo did seem genuine in his efforts to help Malfoy, if Malfoy’s bad attitude was evidence of anything. Biting her lip, Hermione made the best decision she could with the information she had: she would wait, and watch. The moment things became too much she could always leave. It was hardly as if Malfoy or Theo could attack her here, in front of all of these witnesses.

Blessedly, Malfoy seemed to have decided to opt for silence as well. Aside from the occasional grumbling, he was perfectly silent and absent from she and Theo’s discussion of the material. He had chosen to bury his nose in his books, looking at and listening to nothing except his own coursework. For that, Hermione was immensely grateful.

  
“Have you been down to the Quidditch pitch again recently, Miss Granger?” Theo’s polite voice interrupted her writing. When she looked up, she saw curiosity in his eyes, but nothing in his voice or expression to betray any ill-intent. She hesitated for a moment, but then adopted a polite smile in return and responded. “No, not recently, Mr. Nott. I’m not particularly fond of Quidditch, so truthfully the only time I spend down there is with Ginny.”   
  
“Ah,” Theo nodded. “Ginny Weasley again. Are you two good friends?”   
  
“Look, I don’t mean to cause offense,” Hermione’s eyes shifted to Malfoy’s still form before they flickered over to Theo’s again, her eyes carefully watching his body language. “But why are you acting so friendly towards me?” Her question was gentle, but probing. She truly didn’t want to start problems between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but she needed to know whether or not she was safe.

“He’s not.” Malfoy snorted, closing his book on the page he was reading, as he sat forward in interest. “You can’t believe a word he says. He is a slimy git.” Malfoy turned to Theo and fumed all over again, giving him a once over with his gaze that suggested he had something to be critical of. “But that’s a question I’d like an answer to as well, I’ll admit. What are you doing with Granger, here?” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, his lip curled into a sneer. He leaned his right elbow onto the table next to him, propping his head to rest in his hand as he stared at his friend in the most menacing way he possibly could.

Theo, however, barely paid attention to Malfoy’s antics. He rolled his eyes at Malfoy’s initial comment, then fixated his attention on Hermione until Malfoy stopped speaking. When he did, Theo just shrugged and answered Hermione simply: “I just want to make friends.”   
  
At this, Malfoy burst into loud, raucous laughter. “Just want to make friends?” He cackled, covering his stomach with his hands as he roared bitterly. Nearby tables full of students frantically shushed them in an effort to keep Madam Pince from throwing them all out, but Malfoy didn’t seem to have the presence of mind to keep his laughter to an appropriate volume. At the same time, Hermione and Theo both cast a Muffliato spell, sharing an amused look with one another after the spell was cast. Malfoy, unfortunately, had noticed the look between them. As soon as the moment had ended, Malfoy stopped laughing abruptly. He looked between Hermione and Theo very, very warily. “Theo, do you have a thing for Granger or something?” Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick, and suddenly Hermione felt the same. Her jaw dropped open and her mouth twisted in an unpleasant way, though she desperately tried not to give away her disgust. “That’s not what this is, right?” She choked out, her emotions rushing out all at once. If this was their great plan all along--to humiliate her, and by--Merlin, she couldn’t let this continue.   
  
“I need to go.” Hermione rushed out, standing all of a sudden to gather her things. Her hands were a blur in their effort to throw as many things as she could into her bag as quickly as she could. Her breath was coming short again, and her mind was beginning to fog. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe.   
  
Suddenly, a hand was gripping her elbow tightly, and all of her focus went to that single sensation. She blinked a couple of times, her thoughts slowly coming back to her. She realized after a few moments it was Theo’s eyes staring directly into her own, his hand on her elbow, and he was speaking to her calmly. “Hermione. I wouldn't do that, not to you or anyone else. Draco is just being an arse.” And somehow, even though she still deeply mistrusted them and their motivations, she could see in his actions that he was being completely sincere. He was not out to harm her, at least not in that sense.   
  
Her shoulders relaxed, and a deep breath escaped her. She continued to look at him for a moment before she nodded, and he released his grip on her arm. When she looked around the nearby library shelves and tables, she saw several sets of eyes on them, ranging from shocked, angry, and ready to leap into action to protect her if necessary. She shook her head at those ready to attack and held up her hands, then cancelled the Muffliato spell around them. It wouldn’t do to have someone attack Malfoy and Theo simply because they didn’t know what was going on. Malfoy had stopped being obnoxious, anyway.   
  
Strangely, Malfoy had opted for complete silence after his outburst and she could tell that Theo was grateful for it. She was as well. The more time she spent around him, the more she could tell that Theo was uncomfortable in most social situations. Part of her then questioned his motivations in trying so hard to be friendly to her, but she dismissed it. That was a puzzle she would work out when she had more information to go on.   
  
She did steal a few glances at Malfoy while they continued to work. He had looked up from his materials to glance between the two of them a few times, an expression coming over him not unlike that of someone who had been forced to swallow a slug. He shook his head every time, but never said another word for the remainder of the evening while she and Theo worked exclusively on their assignments. 

By the time their study hour was up, she had become strangely at ease with the two during their study session, despite Malfoy’s outburst. She was immensely surprised that neither had said a single nasty comment to her, or even given her a dirty look, especially Malfoy. Even though he obviously wasn’t pleased with being around her (or Theo’s involvement with her, for that matter), he hadn’t outright insulted her. That was leagues above anything she ever anticipated from him, so at least she could count that as a success.   
  
They parted ways amicably, Hermione exiting the library before either of the two of them. She had made it down two long hallways before she heard loud footsteps from someone running to catch up, followed by the sound of someone calling her name.   
  
“Granger!”

She stopped in her tracks and turned with dread, knowing she was about to come face to face with Draco Malfoy again. She really, really didn’t want to deal with him right now, especially since no one was around to bear witness to his actions. If he tried something, she would be completely vulnerable, with only her wand to assist her…  
  
“You-You left this book.” He gasped out, clearly out of breath from running. “Theo made me bring it to you.” Still, he looked uncomfortable as he stood next to her in a way that seemed entirely unrelated to his physical exertion. His body was turned mostly to the way he came, his eyes refusing to meet hers. He held out the book in one hand toward her, as if he was ready to bolt back to Theo at the first opportunity.   
  
Feeling suddenly bold, Hermione raised her head to look at him. A sudden wave of conviction fell over in the presence of a so obviously uncomfortable Malfoy. She wasn’t about to let him act the way he had toward her only to let him run away a coward again.   
  
“Why do you hate me so much?” Hermione asked him pointedly. She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly, refusing to take the book from his outstretched hand. She was leaving him standing there, forcing him to either answer or take action.   
  
He groaned. “Bloody hell, Granger, why do you have to make everything so difficult?” He took a step toward her, shaking the book in his outstretched hand for emphasis. “Theo is waiting on me, and I need to go. Some of us have a curfew to make.” He shot her a displeased look as he waited for her to take it.

Still, she refused to budge. “Why do you hate me so much?” She repeated evenly. She refused to give in to his petulant need to avoid all of his problems.   
  
Malfoy threw his hands in the air, spinning around in circle before starting to pace back the way he came. “Fuck it.” He stated simply. He kept walking for a moment before he suddenly spun back on his heel and stalked toward her again. When he got close enough to touch her, he pulled her right arm from its folded position and stretched out her hand. With an angry movement, he slapped her book into her hand, then turned on his way to storm off.   
  
“Malfoy!” She called out angrily, following after him. Her bag fell to the floor where she had stood, and she took off after him at a rapid pace. She managed to catch up to him by running, then she stopped in front of his still moving body and put her arm out. He stopped just short of her outstretched hand. She could tell he was becoming very frustrated with her, but so was she with him. He huffed and rolled his eyes, drawing his arms up to fold them against his chest. Her eyes flickered around the hallway, checking the dimly lit brick walls for hidden faces or obscure figures before speaking again.

“I’m getting really tired of this, Malfoy. What did I do? What is wrong? Did the war really change nothing?” Hermione growled, taking a step forward and making him step backward.

  
She could tell by the look on his face that Draco Malfoy did not appreciate being caught off balance at all. He stumbled as he stepped backwards and glared, taking another step forward and meeting her challenging gaze for one of his own. “What is your problem, Granger? This tough girl act isn’t like you. The occasional snappy comment, sure. But openly standing up to me? That’s new. Has winning a war given you some confidence I don’t know about?” He sneered, but his eyes searched hers for answers.   
  
“It sure did, Malfoy.” She stared evenly. “I’ve changed...for the better, I think. I still work to be a better person, though. What are you doing? So far you’ve either hidden away from everyone else or you have been outright cruel to me. And when you called me that name the other day, after you swore to the Wizengamot you would never speak it again? You’ve not really changed, have you Malfoy? Is this all just about saving your own skin?” Her expression fell, as if she fully expected an answer she would hate to receive. He didn’t know what to make of it.   
  
“What do you want me to tell you, Granger?” He threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “I’ve told you before-- _we are not friends_ . Do you honestly expect that we can just forget all that happened between us? Do you want me to start running sweets to you now between classes? Little study dates in the library? Want me to walk you to all of your classes now, while we gossip about the boys?”   
  
Hermione started at him with a hard look. “You know I want none of those things, Malfoy.” Her look of calculating coldness took him aback.   
  
“Then what do you want, Granger?” He demanded. “What do you want from a guy whose Aunt tortured you in his own home, whose dad wanted you dead since the moment he learned of your existence? My family wanted you and your kind erased, Granger. We supported a madman hellbent on killing you and your family. Why the bleeding hell would you want anything to do with me? What could you possibly want from me, aside from as much distance between us as you can possibly manage?”   
  
“A little civility would be nice.” Hermione said simply, her face crumpling with her evident disappointment. She looked him directly in the eyes for a moment and held his gaze, then shook her head and stepped aside. She walked forward, moving with each step away from his turned back, before she collected her deposited bag off of the floor and turned to face his back once more. Her sad voice echoed down the hallway, winding its way down to his unmoving figure like magic: “The only thing I have ever wanted from you, Draco Malfoy, is for you not to call me a Mudblood.” With that, she turned and headed back the way she came.   
  
Standing twenty feet down the hallway with his back still turned away from her, Malfoy closed his eyes.     
  
“DRACO!” Now that Hermione was now completely removed from view, Theo Nott came skidding around the corner at full speed, his school bag and robes bouncing off of his body with the sheer force of his speed. “WHAT ARE YOU--oh.” Theo stopped, threading his thumb through the strap of his bag where it met his shoulder to readjust where the weight of it fell. “What are you doing, standing there like that?” Theo asked, puzzled. “When you didn’t come back I thought you were trying to kill her.” His eyes flashed a warning to Draco. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”   
  
Draco sighed. “No, Nott, not that I’m aware of, anyway. I’m sure word around the school tomorrow will be that I slit her throat or something, though. They sure are a creative bunch, those Gryffindors. They spread rumors half as well as Parkinson.”   
  
Theo hummed in agreement, before chuckling, “Not that Parkinson’s got any brains to come up with a decent rumor.”   
  
Draco cracked a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was too busy thinking about what Granger had said. All she had wanted--the only thing she had ever wanted from him--was something that simple?   
  
“I take it it didn’t go too well, then?” Theo nodded toward Draco’s empty hand, noting that the book he had asked Draco to give her was now gone. Startled, Draco was brought out of his thoughts and nodded in answer to Theo’s question. “Well enough. She got her book back. That’s all that matters.” Theo fixed him with a pointed look, but said nothing. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Theo let out a long breath. “Today went about as well as a Longbottom potion attempt, didn’t it?” He let out a soft chuckle, unable to ignore the humor in the statement. Draco, it seemed couldn’t resist either. He gave a soft laugh himself, before nodding and speaking in agreement: “Like a Finnegan charms spell.”   
  
And while they both chuckled on their way back to the dungeon, Draco was struck with the thought that this is probably the most at peace he had felt in years.


	7. Metus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******* TRIGGER WARNING--PANIC ATTACKS (DETAILED) AND PTSD NIGHTMARES--SENSITIVE CONTENT*******
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

By the time Friday rolled around, Hermione still had not received a reply via owl post from Ron or Harry. She had written to both out of love and genuine desire to see how they were doing, despite receiving Harry’s letter a week ago. Although she had written to Ron, she didn’t expect to receive a reply from him.    
  
Still, she hoped. 

 

Breakfast was a quiet affair. She and Ginny had sat down for a nice quiet meal early that morning, before the crowds of students came in to occupy the hall. Several students had come to sit by them and chat, and Ginny was basking in the conversation about Quidditch. 

 

She didn’t have to wait long, however, until the excitement found her. Even after years of being Harry Potter’s friend, it never failed to surprise her when yet again chaos surrounded her. Neville came crashing through the Great Hall doors as if he was being attacked by something, flying down to the Gryffindor table. He looked every bit as panicked and nervous as he had on any given day during his first year. Hermione was startled. He was positively stricken.    
  
“Are you alright, Neville?” Hermione asked. She turned to Ginny, who raised her eyebrows at her and shrugged before they returned their gazes to Neville. He had fallen into his seat on the empty bench in front of them like a sack of wet potatoes, slightly open mouthed with shock and his eyes as round as saucers.    
  
“Neville!” Ginny leaned forward and snapped her fingers in front of his face to startle him to attention. “What is going on?”    
  
“I-I-I-” Neville stuttered, very much reminding Hermione of himself as he was in first year. She and Ginny again turned to one another, sharing a worried look. It must indeed be serious if he was acting such a way. His confidence, while it still wasn’t top-notch, had at least improved that much over the years. Sensing this would take a while, Ginny grabbed his plate and began loading it with bacon, eggs and toast. When she was done she set it before him, and patted his hand gently. “Whenever you’re ready, Neville.” She smiled earnestly, then leaned back in her own seat and resumed eating her own meal. Hermione picked up on her que, and began eating as well.    
  
It only took a moment for the calmness of the scene to pull Neville from his thoughts. “I-I kissed Hannah-” He only got as far as those three words before two things happened:    
1) Every Gryffindor within hearing distance gasped very loudly and deeply. 

2) Ginny stood rapidly in her shock, sending her plate and very nearly the entire section of their table flying off kilter.

3) An unidentifiable scream of “WHAT?” reverberated around the Great Hall, drawing the attention of all of the houses.    
  
Neville, who had never been embarrassed to such a magnitude before, visibly turned purple and shrunk himself into his robes to hide. Roaring laughter, especially from the Slytherin table, erupted from all over, creating a jovial scene in the Great Hall at poor Neville’s expense. Hermione sat in silent shock until she registered the voice of the Headmistress addressing her from in front of their table: “Miss Granger, despite whatever shock you may have endured, next time please refrain from making such ejaculations. There aren’t many years left for me, and I’m afraid you may have reduced them by a score.”    
  
The Hall, if not already in laughter by now, exploded in laughter in this moment. Hermione flushed, her own embarrassment turning her face red. She straightened her back, indignant and determined not to let anyone get the better of her. Still, as the headmistress turned to walk away, Hermione dipped her head toward the table, biting the inside of her cheek.   
  
“Let’s continue this elsewhere, shall we?” Ginny offered, snatching a couple pieces of toast from the table before nodding her head in the direction of hall’s large doors. Hermione followed behind her proudly, her nose straight in the air despite the laughter around them. She was sure Neville had followed behind, looking thoroughly more embarrassed than she. What a sight they must have made, their clothes progressively soiled as Neville brought up the rear covered in Ginny’s food. A kind Ravenclaw covertly flicked her wand at Neville, clearing the mess from him as they passed, though they didn’t notice until after they exited.    
  
A silent agreement fell between them, and they made their way toward one of the abandoned classrooms near Snape’s old potions room in the dungeons. The staircases were shorter leading downward from the Great Hall, and it would be easier for them not to be seen during lunch period in the dungeons as only Slytherin house was down here. Ginny stepped in first, her wand drawn. After a moment of determining that the coast was clear, she bid Neville and Hermione to enter as well. The room was dimmed with a blue tinted light and covered in cobwebs from what looked like decades of non-use. It was very plainly being used for storage, as things were stacked up and covered with the occasional cloth. Larger things, like chairs and tables, remained uncovered, but for the most part nothing looked disturbed in that room for the last 30 years at least. Their fresh footprints in the dust were the only signs of life to now decorate it.    
  
“So,” Ginny started slyly, picking a small lump of scrambled egg from her otherwise pristine hair, “You kissed Hannah?” Her excitement was so obvious and infectious, it brought forth a bubbly laugh from Hermione, even though it was unintentional. Neville’s face began to color once more, red making its way up to his ears. “Oh come on, Neville,” Hermione coaxed gently, her amusement shining through though, nonetheless. “It’s perfectly normal. We’ve all kissed someone. How did it happen?” She gently prodded. 

 

“We were studying in the greenhouses.” Neville buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I have no idea where it came from! I was just talking about how the Beleaguring Birch had poisonous qualities on the buds of its branches, so I wanted her to be careful… Then when she turned her head to me I just found myself looking at her cheeks and her eyes and her face, and I--”    
  
Ginny giggled. “Alright, so you couldn’t resist her feminine charms. Is that it? What did you say to her afterward? What did she say?” Ginny leaned back against the door, crossing her arms with a smirk. There was definitely an implied threat there with her movement: no one leaves until she gets answers. 

 

“I--I didn’t say anything, I suppose.” His brows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember. “I--I panicked. I apologized. I tripped over my boots,” he moaned, covering his ears once more in his embarrassment while Hermione and Ginny snickered, “and then I ran from the greenhouse!”    
  
“Why did you run?” Hermione asked diplomatically, elbowing Ginny to control herself. While trying to conceal her laughter, the red-head had opted to hold her breath to keep from making noise, knowing that to do so would guarantee a reaction from Neville. Hermione brushed her hair behind her ears, fixing her eyes back up to Neville’s to fix him with a serious gaze. He needed to be guided away from his emotional response in order for them to sort out the problem. Ginny was not helping. 

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Neville moaned quietly. He began to pace furiously in front of them, his nervous steps kicking up tendrils of dust and stale air that formed little swirls around his feet. “I--” His fists clenched in his hair, a heavy exhale escaping him while he spun in place. “I suppose because I thought she may have been scared by it. It was so sudden, and we haven’t talked about any of this before…”    
  
“Any of what?” Ginny asked, suddenly somber. She took a step forward, her expression uncertain. “Neville, what haven’t you discussed?” She pointedly asked.    
  
“Our...relationship.” He sighed deeply, turning away to examine the dusty trunks beside him. The cobwebs below directed each of the trio’s attention for a moment, before Neville continued to speak. “I-I love her.” Suddenly more confident, Neville raised his head to stare into Ginny’s eyes, then Hermione’s. “I’ve already told her, we just...haven’t discussed it yet.” He sucked in a breath. “She agreed to study with me, and now I’ve mucked it all up by kissing her, and…”    
  
“She agreed to study with you after you told her you love her?” Ginny blinked, a slow, sideways grin beginning to steal over her face. “She didn’t say anything else?”    
  
“I--no, she didn’t. Why?” Neville asked innocently, looking away from his feet to steal a glance from Ginny. “Is that a bad sign?”    
  
Suddenly, the girls began cackling. It was all Ginny could take to keep upright, she was bent over holding her stomach as she laughed. Hermione instead walked over to Neville, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “It’s a very good sign, Neville.” Hermione offered kindly, winding her arm through his and turning him toward the door. Together they began a slow pace as they neared Ginny, who stood and took Neville’s other arm to accompany them. Ginny’s grin, however, was infectious. Each of them emerged from the classroom appearing more jovial than they had felt in a long time, as Ginny calmly explained to Neville what it meant when a girl didn’t run when you told them you loved her. 

  
  


* * *

 

As classes progressed through the day, Hermione could feel her eyes becoming heavier and heavier. By third period, she could barely stand, let alone walk. The night terrors she had been plagued with over the past few nights still haunted her. She could barely sleep, and when she did manage to catch a few winks it seemed as if a new, even more terrifying nightmare woke her not even twenty minutes later. She knew the stress from being back at Hogwarts would get to her, but she hadn’t expected the night terrors to begin so soon, or with such violent frequency.    
  
“Miss Granger…”    
  
Why had she been having nightmares, anyway? She was strong. She had managed to help Harry Potter, after all, and they didn’t even know if they would live to see another day...   
  
“Miss Granger…!” 

 

She wondered what she could do to stop them. Would going to sleep earlier increase her likelihood to get more sleep, or would the nightmares still prevent it? She could always use her dreamless sleep potion, but she didn’t want to become dependent on it and she only had a few bottles left…

 

“Miss Granger!” A loud slap on her desk startled Hermione to attention, her own loud gasp involuntarily wrenching her back into reality. She was in class, oh Godric, and she...she had been nearly asleep!    
  
Shame washed over her, her face draining of all color as she looked up into Professor Gauge’s eyes. She truly didn’t know what to say, she was so humiliated. “Professor, I--” Hermione started, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

 

“Please see me after class, Miss Granger.” Professor Gauge responded, his mouth set in a tight line. The new potions professor’s temper was already worn thin from an explosion that had occurred earlier in the class period, which made things even worse for her. Hermione could only snap her mouth shut and nod, her lips clamped tightly with the effort not to cry. As soon as the other students began to turn around to once again face their own cauldrons, she allowed herself to finally free the tears that had been gathering in her eyes. One of her tears had unfortunately fallen into her cauldron, turning it a pale blue color instead of the vibrant pink that it should be, but she was so upset that Hermione barely noticed. When she did a few moments later, her shoulders sagged and buckled with the desperate force of her resistance to cry. A sob escaped her despite her best efforts, but a deep breath followed and she was able to compose herself. She was Hermione Granger. She had fought in a war this time last year with her best friends and they had taken down a crazed melomaniac set on destroying both she and everyone she loved. She could handle a little sleep deprivation, but Merlin it was hard. Even after the adrenaline coursing through her after this absolutely mortifying incident in class, she could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was give in, to lay her head down on her arms and sleep on her desk and take the zero grade for her potion. The thought should have disgusted her, should have motivated her into participating, but truthfully it made no difference. She could barely concentrate, couldn’t remember at all what the lesson was about even though it had begun only thirty minutes ago. A cursory glance around told her that she hadn’t even removed her notebook or quill and inkpot from her bag when she arrived. Hermione closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples. She couldn’t think clearly. How much sleep had she had last night?    
  
After what seemed like much more than another 45 minutes, class had finally ended. Hermione had finally decided to struggle onward and to try to recover her potion. While it far from reflected her ability, she had managed to recover it to a barely passable potion. Luckily she hadn’t managed to accomplish much more than the base by the time Professor Gauge interrupted her falling asleep. True to her word, she waited for the rest of the class to pack up their belongings and leave the classroom, but she did finally approach the Professor with her head hanging in shame. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Professor, it will never happen again--” she started, her tone firm and insistent, though the professor was already shaking his head and raising his hand to stop her speaking.    
  
“I don’t believe that for a minute Miss Granger,” he started, straightening himself to his full height and meeting her eyes before speaking. “We in wizarding society owe you a great debt, but I cannot abide by you lying to me. I have seen your health steadily decline these past few class periods. You are not sleeping” he finished, crossing his arms and staring down at her evenly. It was neither a challenge nor a question, but his statement definitely held weight as he held her gaze. 

 

Hermione flinched, knowing that despite her best efforts to appear otherwise, she had finally been caught. She had been making efforts to eat a little bit more, to drink some pepper up potions before classes, to use glamour charms to try to hide the bags under her eyes, but she knew it had finally come crashing to an abrupt end. 

 

“We are now four weeks into the school year, Miss Granger, so I do not believe that your insomnia is due to any trouble you may be having in adjusting.” Sweet Merlin, he hesitated, bringing his hand up to rub his chin as he took a deep breath. Hermione went rigid with dread. He was going to say it, he was going to ask her about it. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready!    
  
Professor Gauge, to his credit, took a full minute before finally seeming to come to a decision. 

“Come, Miss Granger, and I will escort you to Madam Pomfrey.” 

 

“No!” Hermione’s eyes widened, and she visibly took two steps back. Involuntarily, she began shaking and tears sprang to her eyes before she was really even aware of it. “No, you can’t tell anyone!” 

 

This response shocked the professor tremendously, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening before he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes in concern. “Miss Granger, you obviously need some medical care, and that I cannot provide to you…”    
  
“Please,” Hermione stared up at him in tears, pleading with him as tears began running down her cheeks. “Please, please you cannot tell anyone! I’m fine, I’m just a little tired, I’m--”    
  
“Miss Granger,” Professor Gauge interrupted her panicked thoughts with a gentle tone. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione thought his tone was calming, although the fear and shame of being found out was overpowering her common sense. “Miss Granger, you must understand that I cannot continue to let you suffer like this. Have you been having nightmares?” He had finally asked the question that she had been dreading most, and her heart began to race. Her breathing was picking up and she could feel her hands beginning to shake. She could feel the panic rising up, overtaking her mind, and then all of a sudden she was on the ground. 

 

‘He’s trying to speak to you,’ a voice in her head that sounded exactly like her own said. This voice was perfectly calm and in full understanding of everything happening around her. In fact, if Hermione closed her eyes and tried to imagine her, she knew that she would be seeing herself as she knew herself to be--calm, confident, dressed smartly and neatly with that same discerning curiosity that she always wore with her. ‘Your heart rate and breathing picked up so you fell to your knees on the ground. You’re having a panic attack’ the voice version of Hermione observed with nothing but calmness. It was deeply soothing, honestly. She imagined herself smiling and nodding gently, much in the same fashion her mother did when she were a frightened child. 

  
‘Now he has conjured a stretcher and has levitated you onto it,’ her voice soothed in the back of her mind. Consciously, Hermione decided to try to move her hand, to try to jump down from the stretcher. This isn’t what she wanted, this isn’t what she needed--and yet her mind was not behaving. Her mind was trapped in her body as it heaved with her breaths and her racing heart on top of the stretcher, unable to move and unable to speak. For someone who had been so content and reliant on controlling herself and her environment her entire life, Hermione had never been so terrified. 

 

She didn’t know how long it had taken before they reached the hospital wing. She knew that Professor Gauge had taken steps--more than necessary, really--to conceal the identity of the student on the stretcher and she appreciated it more than she knew how to express. He had also moved her very quickly and discreetly, despite the long trek up from the dungeons to the Hospital Wing. When they had arrived, Madam Pomfrey had wasted no time in fretting over her, placing her in a bed and drawing warm, heavy blankets over her. Madam Pomfrey dismissed Professor Gauge and thanked him for his help in transporting her here, sending him to fetch Professor McGonagall before he returned to his classroom. 

 

Within a few minutes, Professor McGonagall came bursting through the doors of the hospital wing, shouting about where her student was taken. Madam Pomfrey at least had had the good grace to look amused before turning to lecture the older woman, who immediately sobered as she stood beside Hermione’s bedside. Now Headmaster, Minerva McGonagall had elected to remain Gryffindor’s Head of House in light of hiring the new professors. There had not been a Gryffindor among them, since many of them had been hired from an international candidate pool.     
  
By now Hermione’s breathing had begun to return to normal. The panic had started to recede, and her eyes finally closed with relief as she felt her breaths becoming longer and more steady with every passing moment. Awareness started creeping back into her mind as she once again began to think consciously about the room around her, taking in the colors and the smells and the way the sun came into the room. Her fingers twitched and she could finally move her hands again. She commanded her fingers to raise up and she could have cried with relief when they did. She held them below her face, her head looking down at them as she turned them palm up and palm down over and over again until the fact that it all was over became real for her. At this point-and with her breathing fully steadied-she became aware of a warm pressure on her right leg. She looked up into the eyes of a deeply concerned Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey sitting on the edge of her bed to her left.    
  
Hermione averted her eyes from the gaze of her head of house, shame taking over her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled weakly, her eyes filling with tears. Of all of the people that she didn’t want to see her at her weakest, it would be Minerva McGonagall. 

 

“Don’t you dare, Miss Granger, don’t you dare apologize to me!” The Headmaster’s voice wavered with emotion, as she stood next to Hermione’s side and edged her way to sit on Hermione’s other side across from Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall’s hand moved to clasp Hermione’s right hand in hers and she held it tightly as Hermione began to cry. The next thing she knew she was being crushed into an embrace by Professor McGonagall, not an centimeter of space between them. “I knew you would have a hard time, Miss Granger, but by the devil I thought you would have come to me before it came to this.” Hermione blinked as fresh tears ran down her face, and she became aware of a hand moving around her back and through her hair, damp tears falling onto her neck. Professor McGonagall was crying, too.    
  
“I am too old to worry like this, do you know that?” She scoffed, pulling back from Hermione but still keeping her hand clasped tightly in her own. Her Scottish brogue was beginning to come through, a treacherous indication of her thinly concealed emotions. She absentmindedly stroked Hermione’s hair while she spoke, holding her head against her shoulder while Hermione cried. 

  
“I knew coming out of this war you would have it worse than most, what with what you went through” McGonagall’s eyes involuntarily flashed to Hermione’s arm, the word ‘Mudblood’ angrily staring out of her flesh, “but I knew the worst of it would be the...adjustment...you would have to make in your personal life.” Professor McGonagall bowed her head downward, acknowledging the tremendous loss Hermione had undergone. “Do’yae remember the conversation we had shortly after the battle? Surely you remember what I told ye?”    
  
Hermione was stunned for a moment that her old Professor had even mentioned it. Yet reality began crashing around her, everything throwing her mind into slow motion. She did, in fact, remember, and while she had always known Professor McGonagall’s word to be ironclad, at the time they had just seemed like words empty and baseless in meaning. She had thought of them as well-wishes at best, and empty promises at worst.

 

“I meant every word that I spoke to you that day, Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall closed her eyes, hugging Hermione to her tightly. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. You fought every bit like the proud lion that you are during that war, and I’ve never been prouder of a student in my life. You are truly the bravest of Gryffindors--you’ve long since been a favorite student of mine--surely you must know that? And I’ve long thought of you as the daughter I never had. Don’t you remember our private tea times that I’ve hosted with you since third year? You surely knew that I have only very rarely done that for other students.” Reluctantly, Hermione let out a small, teary chuckle at the memories that flashed with that admission. The two of them had had many interesting and fun discussions over the years in McGonagall’s office.

 

The Headmistress sombered and drew Hermione tighter against her with a heavy sigh. “I know that you lost your parents, lass, and that loss will never go away. But as long as ye have a need of a mother, or a teacher, or just someone to talk to--I’ll always be here for ye. And if you ever pull something like this again, I will descend upon you with a wrath that would have Molly Weasley blushing!” 

 

Despite everything she was thinking and feeling, despite the lack of sleep and despite the looming despair she felt even after their conversation, Hermione threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress both joined in. Blimey, it felt good just to laugh, even if the aching chasm of emptiness inside of her after the panic attack was trying to lure her mind into a very different, much darker place. She didn’t know what that feeling was about yet, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it forever.

 

A hand on the top of her head drew her from her thoughts, the sensation of fingers stroking through the strands of her hair once more reminding her of her lost mother. “You don’t have to claim it, lass,” the Headmistress started, clearly not knowing if what she was about to say would upset Hermione even more, “but the name McGonagall is always there for ye should you choose to accept it.” The Headmistress ran her fingers through her hair once more with a gentle stroke, and Hermione slammed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over once more.

 

* * *

 

“What did the St. Mungo’s healers say?” Ginny raced to catch up with Hermione, who was power walking toward their transfiguration class. It had been two days since Hermione’s very public first panic attack, and she was still rather sensitive about it. Ginny had learned not to mention it outright as a panic attack, but instead ask carefully worded questions about processes or moving forward. Asking Hermione how she felt or about what had happened made her think about it, and the more she thought about it the more tender the emotional wound felt. That day had wounded Hermione a great deal emotionally, and she still felt the gaping chasm of emptiness in her chest since that day. What made it worse was that she had no way of knowing how to make it go away. It was deeply unnerving to her, but at least she hadn’t had any nightmares over the last couple of nights. 

“They said I had indeed likely had a panic attack, and that if that were the case they would like to see me this Saturday for an assessment.” Hermione sighed, trying her best to view it in a positive way. “This may be a different way the stress from my...experiences...are manifesting, and if that’s the case then it’s very possible that it will happen again. If it does, I won’t be able to control it and it can happen at any time, although certain things--memories, smells, stress, etc.--may trigger them. I have to keep a list,” Hermione grimaced, “of events and their triggers if I have another one.”    
  
It was truly a blessing that only Ginny knew about the panic attack, Hermione knew. McGonagall had nearly had a fit when Hermione asked Madam Pomfrey to keep it entirely a secret from anyone else. The Headmistress had absolutely insisted that she have at least one other person know to help keep an eye on her condition, someone that they  _ both _ trusted. Hermione knew that truthfully meant someone who McGonagall could trust to come to her in case Hermione truly needed help, but Hermione had softened when McGonagall suggested Ginny. She was the only one that Hermione would have trusted with this information, anyway. There were far too many eyes and ears among the school’s walls, she knew, and they were all out for a fresh new story about the struggles and triumphs of any member of the “Golden Trio.” It was a sad reality that Hermione knew that she would have to be very wary this year of who she trusted, because anyone would be willing to sell her out for a few galleons, or their own personal moment of fame, or--Merlin forbid--Hermione’s “own good.”    
  
So now Hermione, who otherwise was glad for her friend’s help and support--had to faithfully report all of her medical struggles, or suffer the consequences of the headmistresses’ wrath. Ginny, true to her warped nature, found the whole thing delightfully funny. She had finally just caught up to Hermione, and though she was puffing and slightly out of breath from trying to keep up with her fast-walking, studious friend, Ginny grinned mischievously. “Shall I alert the captain, then?” 

  
Hermione groaned, reaching a hand up to rub her right temple, knowing she was referring to the Headmistress. “Why do I even bother with you?” She sighed, continuing her rubbing motion and then dragging her hand down her face.   
  
Ginny shrugged, then let out a delighted giggle. “Because you love me,” she replied, and then snorted: “and because you know if mum was your surrogate mother instead she would be far, FAR worse.” 

Hermione chuckled, she couldn’t help it. She knew Molly Weasley well, but she knew their Head of House better. “Care to hedge a bet on that, Weasley?” She threw a sideways look at her friend, her narrowed eyes and small smile issuing more of a challenge than was perhaps necessary.

Ginny smirked, “I see your bet and I’ll raise you two galleons.”    
  
Hermione laughed, a loud genuine laugh that echoed more loudly than she intended through the 3rd floor corridor. “4 galleons each then, Molly vs. Minerva.” 

A group of second years heading in the opposite direction glanced nervously in their direction, before crowding towards the opposite side of the wall. Whatever involved the Headmistress and the famous war heroine Molly Weasley, no one wanted any part in it. 


End file.
